


Aurorae

by orphan_account



Category: His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Angst, Crossover, Eventual Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, F/M, Families of Choice, Fell Winter, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Disability, Soulmates, if they're even mentioned in the book they'll probably turn up somehow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-01
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-01-10 20:20:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 53,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1164078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo Baggins and his daemon get pulled into an adventure across Middle Earth to resurrect a fallen empire. They get into fights, fall hopelessly in love and generally do things their father would disapprove of. </p><p>A Hobbit/ Dark Materials crossover spanning Bilbo's childhood, to the Battle of the Five Armies, and beyond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The only part of this fic taken from HDM are the daemons- animals that are the reflection of a person's soul that settles in one form after childhood. 
> 
> All translations are now in the mouseover text. 
> 
> Enjoy :)

PROLOGUE:  _Fell Winter_

Bilbo scratched at his feet as he waited, tucking his knees underneath his chin and sighing loudly, earning him a scolding look from his Ma. He watched as she tucked another strand of sweat-damp hair behind her pointed ear and knelt down, muttering curse words as she tried to pull out a nail. Bilbo’s Pa looked worriedly back at his son, nudging his wife with one elbow, quickly putting a finger to his lips before his fingers strained around the plank of wood that was slowly coming lose. Bilbo heard his stomach rumble loudly, tightening his arms around his skinny legs and looking guiltily up at his parents as they continued to work, his Ma wiping a hand across her face as her husband carefully set the wood on the plush carpet. Bilbo looked down at the small, furry lump curled on his chest underneath his shirt, big golden eyes staring back up at him.

“Little ones?” Bilbo jerked his gaze up to the gaunt owl that came skittering softly towards him, feeling blunt claws on his skin as his own daemon crawled up to poke her head over his collar. “Remember, as soon as the door opens, you have to keep very quiet and very still.”

Bilbo felt Damia shift into a shrew underneath his cupped hands, squeezing her nose through a gap in his fingers to nod at their mother's daemon.

“We will Royce.”

The owl bit affectionately at Bilbo's little finger and pressed his beak to Damia's forehead, pausing to look around the little hobbit hole, eyes appearing uncharacteristically sad. Bilbo looked to the bird daemon and back to his parents, watching as a scrawny cat wove its way around his mother's legs as the two adults gripped at each other's shoulders and hissed half-whispered words. The white breath curling around their heads reminded him of the dragons in some of Ma's stories.

Bilbo shuddered from a sudden draft and stumbled to his feet, Damia crawling up onto his shoulder and pressing up against the curls of his hair. They watched as his Pa helped his Mother into a cloak, bundling her up in multiple layers. The two stopped for a moment, staring at the scene, Bilbo's fingers finding the knot in his own mustard-yellow scarf and slowly undoing it, Damia scuttling into the baggy sleeve of his jumper.

“Ma.” They said in unison, Bilbo ducking his head down as his parents and their respective daemons turned to face them. “You can have this if you want. It'll keep you warm.”

Belladona looked down at her son and the bright eyes peeking over the cuff of his shirt and smiled slightly, wrapping them up in a hug, grabbing at her husband to drag him in as well. “Thank you my little 'Bo, I'm sure it will do its job brilliantly.” Bilbo looked up through his Ma's curls to watch his Papa press a kiss to her forehead, his grip getting too tight around them. “You've got to look after your father and Parva while I'm out.”

“We're perfectly fine managing for a few minutes in your absence.” said the cat daemon, now watching imperiously from Ma's glory box in the way she only did when she didn't want Bilbo or Damia to know that she was sad.

“You bloody Tooks will be the end of me my dear.” Pa muttered instead, curling his palm around the back of Ma's head to flatten the unruly ringlets. He could feel something wet on the bare skin of his neck and hoped it wasn't his mother crying again. 

“I better be off now, little hobbits need their food.” Ma sounded like she had a cold and Bilbo frowned up at her, hugging her once more tightly around the waist as she fumbled to take her knife and a sack from her husband. Bilbo was ushered back into the sitting room by Parva, but Damia's sharp eyes still caught a glimpse of the swirling snow, a flash of a yellow scarf and chipped green paint as their mother left. Bilbo curled up in the shared mountain of bedding on the floor and scowled up at the dark shape of his Papa in the arched doorway.

“Will Ma and Royce be okay?” That was Damia, her voice muffled in the many folds of fabric.

Bungo Baggins slumped heavily onto the door frame, rubbing his temples and gritting his teeth against tears, looking up to see two pairs of identical golden eyes. They almost made the fear worthwhile. Almost.

“She'll be fine, the emergency food storage is just around the corner, she'll be back in no time.” Bilbo's frown deepened if anything, his arm emerging from a blanket to gesture his Pa closer, gripping onto his waistcoat and pulling him down under the covers. The elder hobbit went willingly, his daemon following close behind, both of them dragging the children closer. Bilbo could smell tobacco and ice on his Papa's skin and winced, burrowing further down into the bedding to smell Ma's perfume as well.

“What if the Orcs get her?” It was whispered, but in the dark, silent room with only the wind to disturb them, it was heard loud and clear. Pa hugged Bilbo closer for a moment, Damia feeling a rasp of a cat tongue on her back and the two relaxed into the hold, Bilbo burying his face in his Papa's shoulder.

“They wouldn't dare, anyone who gets between your mother and her food better start running now.” Bilbo smiled and Damia giggled, shifting into a cat and curling up closer to Parva, almost swamped by the amount of fur.

The group lay there for a while, Bilbo watching the slow rise and fall of his Pa's chest in the candlelight, hearing the odd rasp of the cough that wouldn't go away. The other hobbit fidgeted after a short time, gently pushing a drowsy Bilbo off of him and moving toward the door, Parva pacing nervously behind him.

As the key turned in the lock and the wind scattered loose papers around the corridor, a wolf howl curled through the air, the hair standing up straight along Damia's back, her claws cutting into Bilbo's side. All the two could see was their Pa's silhouette against the white light of the snow, painfully still in the quiet smial.

“I smell blood.” Pa didn't even look back at his daemon, just reaching for the hat stand, carefully placing the lone cap on the nearby cabinet and tightening his hold on the strong wood. His face wore the same expression that, until now, had only been reserved for dirty dishes and muddy carpets.

“Papa?” His father twitched violently. “Is Ma and Royce going to be okay still?”

“'Are' Ma and Royce going to be safe still.” He said mildly, pulling his pocket watch out of his pocket and flipping it open. “And yes, if I've got anything to do with it.”

“So you're going to help Mama bring back food then?”

“Yes, among other things.” Bungo turned to face his son, slipping the watch back into his waistcoat and pulling his cravat tight up to his throat, Parva licking down any tufts of ruffled fur by his feet. “Now little ones. Stay here and stay quiet and, whatever happens, don't let the Sackville-Baggins' get their grubby mitts on the best silver.”

Bilbo stood up, pulling a duvet up with him like a cape and watching as his Pa swept out of the door with the hat stand seeming like a staff in his hands. A paw stopped the door from fully closing, golden eyes looking up at Bilbo.

“Lets go on an adventure.” Damia's voice was small and gentle, her tail twitching excitedly as Bilbo thought of elves and wizards and his mother's bedtime stories. He didn't even remember curling his fingers around the door handle and pulling it open against the wind, just Damia snuffling against his neck and the collection of silver cutlery he shoved down his shirt. Bilbo's toes were now going slowly purple as he sunk knee deep into the drifts, a butter knife held in his numb fingers and the wind stinging his eyes and face.

He couldn't open his mouth to speak to Damia but the cat just curled tighter around his shoulders to replace the missing scarf, burying her face in Bilbo's collar. Even though they’d left just minutes after their Papa and his daemon, the two were no where in sight, just the swirling snow and his own quickly disappearing footprints.

The sound that he heard next, Bilbo only recognized from when the wargs had almost got into Bag End. His Ma had screamed a scared battle cry that woke both his Pa and Bilbo, the wood almost buckling against the massive wolves' combined weight. Damia went deathly still, her pulse jumping on Bilbo's neck as the two stared at each other for a moment, both wishing for their bed and above all, their Mama and Papa. Bilbo whimpered and pulled Damia down to hug her to his chest, his arms cradling her tawny fur as he stumbled to run to the sound, the silver still clinking against his chest.

“Mama?” Bilbo saw a flash of black against the white and flinched backwards. Adventures weren't supposed to be like this. “Mama!”

The breath was forced painfully out of him as a strong arm wrapped around his waist, fingers leaving bruises on his ribs. Bilbo twisted his head frantically around, kicking his short legs and trying to scream, only to see a familiar waistcoat.

“Pa?”

“Yes you stupid, _stupid_ children. I told you to stay insi-” A loud howl pierced the air, followed by a chorus of replies. “Sweet Yavanna, they're coming closer.”

“What's happening?” Damia whispered, wide-eyed and struggling in Bilbo's arms.

“My sweet Bilbo, lovely Damia please, I'm begging you, stay quiet and still this time. I swear it will be only for a while.” Bungo placed the two children behind a large bank of snow, shaking at his only child's shoulders before pushing their eyes closed with one soft palm. “The orcs are coming my dear ones, you must be silent whatever happens. And please don't look.”

Bilbo felt his Papa's arms gather him up into a hug one last time before the the older hobbit was gone, the soft pad of his running feet swallowed up by another roar from a warg and its rider. Bilbo twisted around to put his palms against the wall of snow, tentatively peering over it to see a large shape towering above a decidedly hobbit-shaped silhouette. _His Mama._

Belladona was shouting something indistinguishable at her enemies, wielding a sword that she thought Bilbo hadn't know about and slowly advancing forward, a sack full of food still in her hand. It was so quick Bilbo almost missed it, but as the warg pounced, half of a hat stand was pushed into the side of its muscle bound shoulder, a splattering of bright red on the snow as a scrawny cat leapt for its eyes, quick paws coming away bloody.

Bilbo watched, spellbound, as the warg's jaws snapped down, closing around the skinny chest of Bungo Baggins, his cravat still neatly tied around his pale throat. His mother was screaming louder now, this time audible above the howling wind and wolves. Something twisted in Bilbo's gut, the scene almost dream-like as his daemon changed for the final time.

A golden blur tore through the snow, Damia's body echoing the one still shaking their Pa's corpse in its jaws and fur reflecting the golden dust that hung in the air. Bilbo's heart pounded in his chest as his daemon jumped at the orc, a fierce Tookish pride running through him as the sound of bones snapping cut his Ma's screams short in her disbelief.

The black warg disappeared into the same gold dust as Parva as her Orc died, Belladonna Baggins crawling through the swirling white, gold and red to her fallen husband. More Orcs were swarming the area now, calling out in the absence of their brother's voice and wargs howling as another of their own kind appeared in the Shire. Belladonna collapsed at her Bungo's side, unaware of her child that still sat frozen among a pile of snow only feet away.

The hobbit ignored the cries of the wargs, and the golden one that was yelping and biting at her new, unfamiliar form. Instead she unwound the yellow scarf from around her neck and pressed it against the puncture wounds riddling the body underneath her hands, tears dragging down her face as they froze slightly on cheeks.

“Bungo? Bungo no. You can't have been heroic now, not for me. You're my Baggins, my sensible Baggins. You're not allowed to be a martyr.” She whispered as the blood stained her hands and the yellow wool, wargs starting to circle the couple where they lay crumpled in the snow. Bilbo was just about to stand up, to shout at her or to throw the butter knife in his hands or _anything,_ when a man strode through the dip between two buried smials, wielding a staff that was nothing like the hat stand that lay splintered on the ground.

“GET AWAY!” he roared, a row of archers appearing over the mounds of snow, faces covered but still unmistakably Rangers. Bilbo scrambled back, a paw curling around him, Damia shielding him from view with her massive new body, lip curling back at the newcomer. The man, his grey robes beaded with chunks of ice, didn't spare her a look, charging forward to where Belladonna still sat cradling the cooling corpse.

“Gandalf...” The man, who was the wizard from all his mother's best stories, looked down at the woman, his whole posture radiating rage. The Orcs and their daemons fled under his gaze, sensing the power that surrounded him and the horse by his side, the daemon's voice joining the gruff shouts of the men chasing down the fleeing Orcs.

“Bella. We have to get you inside, they'll be back.” Ma groaned low and pitifully in her throat, Royce echoing the noise as the wizard wrapped an arm around her, pulling her to her feet.

“But Parva. My Bungo. Love...” She was staring between her hands and the prone form already being covered by the snow that still fell.

“We will deal with him later my poor hobbit. For now, we must get you home before you freeze.” The horse was speaking now, her voice calm and sad, herding Royce away like a mother with a chick.

“Home.” Mama said dazedly, gripping tightly to the wizard's sleeve. “Home. Bilbo. _Oh Yavanna_ , my little ones are alone.”

Bilbo sat up at the mention, pushing Damia away slightly to try and stand up, his legs weighed down by snow. He tried to speak but all he could do was wheeze, breath croaky and not at all how it should be. The two adults froze and turned to face him. Well, not him, more the rather thin, golden warg that stood behind him, thick shoulders hunched protectively and still growling low in her throat.

“Step away.” It was directed at Damia, who stumbled backwards at the wizard's snarl, looking to Belladonna for reassurance as her own hobbit stared at her, frightened and confused and numb. “Get away from that child!"

Bilbo stared at the man who stood so his body was angled to protect his Mama and bit back a sob, the staff still being pointed at his daemon.

“No!” Bilbo held up a shaking hand and buried the other one in her fur, using her to help him stand straight. “It's Damia. Mama, she saved you, make the wizard stop it, you're scaring her.”

Gandalf the Grey looked down at one of his truest friends, face ruddy with tears and the cold, still clutching a scarf that was dripping with the slowly freezing blood of her husband, and croaked out a broken laugh.

“A hobbit with a warg daemon.” he relaxed the arm holding the staff and sighed, Shadowfax moving slowly toward the tiny form of the hobbit child, who stood sheltered from the snow by the whimpering creature above him. “I shouldn't be surprised.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be introducing the dwarrows and their daemons. Here, if anyone is remotely interested, are the daemons mentioned in this chapter:
> 
> Belladonna- [Royce](http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Pnw6AbxoReU/TS0nbLgXc0I/AAAAAAAAABQ/pj0s7LWhTko/s1600/Burrowing_Owl_in_Rio_Ranch_.gif)
> 
> Bungo- [Parva](http://www.scottishwildcats.co.uk/images/wildcatpic3.jpg)
> 
> Bilbo-[Damia](http://hal_macgregor.tripod.com/kennel/Spanish-wolf.jpg) (though more warg-like)


	2. Part One

PART ONE:  Queen of Wargs 

_Cirro throws her head to the air, blood and leaf mulch filling her mind as a hand curled tighter around the white fur on her neck, digging deep into the thick flesh with sharp nails. The harsh grip made each thump of paws on the rain- wet ground jar through her, muscles grating together as she is urged faster._

_“Vrapog scara!”_

_She whines and pushes herself forward, maw twisting up into a snarl at the order and the scent of burning fur and fat. She can see the fires now, twisting bright in the dark camp and sending sparks into the night sky, her pack howling up to the moon above the guttural language of the orcs._

_“Bolg!”_

_The screams of the wolves are cut short save for one at the Pale Orc's shout, Cirro's paws still racing towards the centre of the camp where the bonfire curls upward to kiss the sky. The son of her master rides to meet them, digging sharp heels into Njiya who manages to whisper out a shivered greeting of **mabrotnosh**  before his face is tugged violently to the side as the two orcs begin to hiss. Cirro presses a nose to Njiya's flank and clicks her teeth together for her pack brother to continue in muted growls. _

  
_**who screams?** _

_**  
kista. he stole food for the pups and now he burns for his kindness** _

  
_She bites back a whine at the familiar name. The two wargs are driven closer to the cries, and she curses her rider in every tongue she knows, hoping that he is too distracted to feel the words through the bond._

_They stumble through into the centre of the camp, the bonfire blazing in the very heart of a circle of tents and orcs, the cracking of burning wood and breaking bones and guttural shouts almost indistinguishable from each other._

_Kista is an old warg, his orc and rider already looking for a replacement dyr-snaga, looking for any excuse to be rid of his wolf. Kista looks his age more so than Cirro has ever seen, slumped too close to the fire and not seeming to care. Still he bows his head respectfully. As he moves the light glances off of red bubbles of flesh, the grey fur blackened and singed and slick with melted skin._  
  
**  
** **i'm sorry mabrotnosh , the little ones were so hungry**  
  
  
**you are forgiven**

  
_The warg falls in on himself like a puppet with its strings cut, body moving with the kick that is delivered to his side. The orcs don't see the last flash of defiance in his eyes like all his kin do, that deep set resentment born from a free animal whose soul is enslaved from the moment they enter the world._

  
_**may i** **seek freedom?** _

  
_Cirro nods her head once, the Pale Orc twisting a fist into her pelt as he realizes what she is doing, unable to act as her permission is given. Kista, for all his injuries and bone-deep tiredness, moves with a speed that is only ever seen in moments like this, the first and last act of free will. He spins around, muscles taught and teeth bared, powerful jaw closing around the ribcage of his rider, screaming in pain as the same wounds he is inflicting dig deep into his own body. Kista bursts into golden dust as his orc dies._

_It is over._

_Cirro can feel anger clench around the bond, tearing at her mind as Azog screams at the loss of another rider and experienced warg._

_“You defy me?” Absolute silence falls on the group and Cirro wonders if she has pushed it too far this time, choking on a growl as her master's single claw presses slowly into her shoulder. “I have supreme power over your life snaga... Anything you do will only hurt yourself, or does your marr dyr mind not understand?” _

  
_**i understand** _

  
_She feels her legs falter as the metal digs deeper._

  
_**i understand! i understand, goth  azog!** _

  
_Her voice is shrill and grating even to her own ears, smugness radiating from the Pale Orc and swamping her already pain- clouded mind. Njiya looks at her worriedly but stays stock still, obviously conscious of the hand resting on his own neck, even as Cirro meets his gaze. She blinks golden eyes at her pack-brother and the world melts away, a thought growing and festering in her mind as she sees a warg as meek as a pup._

_They were wild once, before the orcs twisted magic tied collars around their throats, and they would be again._

_She digs the memory of this rare resistance into the furthest reaches of her mind as- though she does not know this now- a free warg is born in the Kindly West and a series of events start to unravel._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small explanation is probably needed for this chapter since I'm not certain if I made it clear (but please comment if this still makes no sense), in this 'verse orcs are not born with daemons and all wargs- with the exception of Damia- were free animals. I will go into more detail during the fic, but all you need to know now is that an orc can harm their warg without feeling their pain, but not the other way around. So the wargs are coerced into doing shitty things like killing hobbits etc. I hope that makes more sense (?).


	3. I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three decades after the snows melted, Mad Bilbo Baggins gets accidentally assaulted inside his own home by a dwarf in knuckledusters. Things escalate from there.

Bilbo felt his back click as he stretched, the late afternoon sun playing on the water that ran over his feet and the warm mass of fur behind his back snoring quietly. He set his pipe down on a rock by his side and leant his head back to watch the light through the leaves above him, far away from the prying eyes of the Shire.

“We better be getting back, 'Mia.” he yawned, elbowing his daemon and groping for the socks and gloves that he had placed a safe distance away from the stream. “It'll be getting dark soon...”

“Why can't we just stay here forever, no one will miss us.” Damia groaned, lolling her head up to squint up at the horizon, Bilbo feeling her muscles tense and stretch under the sun-bleached fur on her back.

“Not miss a warg the size of a pony?”

“Don't be contrary, Little One, you know exactly what I mean.” Bilbo squealed when his daemon playfully snapped at his side, legs jerking as he tried desperately to save his boots from the water and dunking his shirtsleeves in instead.

“How dare you, I am a respectable hobbit of Ba-” Bilbo swore loudly as Damia picked him up by the collar of his shirt and dragged him into the water. His hands grabbed fruitlessly at the thick fur around her face, the shorter fingers on his right hand slipping on the fine hairs. “You filthy mongrel, get your paws off me!”

“That language doesn't sound very respectable Mr Hobbit.” Damia laughed, smirking down at her little Bilbo as he pushed back the dripping curls off his forehead, standing knee-deep in water. The warg daemon slunk closer, looking up from the damp fur covering her eyes, before taking a deep breath and shaking, spraying the clearing. Bilbo squawked and desperately covered his face with his hands, crawling onto the bank and curling into a ball to avoid the worst of the water.

“You're a fully grown adult... No wonder I'm bloody Mad Baggins with you gallivanting around and acting like a fauntling.” Damia said nothing, simply manoeuvring around to lie down on top of Bilbo, the small hobbit swamped in thick golden fur and the smugness radiating off his daemon.

“I hate you so much.”

“What was that Mad Baggins? I can't quite hear you.” Bilbo jabbed his fingers into her ribs and she yelped, twisting away, sending up a cloud of leaves as she squirmed. The hobbit sat up, refusing to look at his sniggering daemon, fussing over mud stains on his shirt and doing up his cuffs with slipping fingers.

“I'm cold, I'm wet and I'm in the company of possibly the most annoying creature in the whole of Middle Earth. We've got to go home now or else I'll die of discomfort.” Bilbo muttered, ignoring the clicking of his joints as he stood up, trying to brush the dirt on his trousers off of the damp material. He paused when reaching for his boots, the dead nerves in his fingers struggling with the laces, but it was better than going bare oot

“More annoying than the Sackville- Baggins'?”

“Especially more annoying.” The pair were wondering out of the woods now, the edge of the trees just in sight and the warg humming to herself as she dragged the tips of her paws through the fallen leaves. The light was dwindling and the sky above the Shire was turning pink, the thick rain clouds gathering to the west almost out of sight. Bilbo looked down at this little home town and sighed, rubbing a grubby hand over his face and closing his eyes against the sunlight for a moment, listening to his daemon mumble to herself.

It had been thirty years since the land in front of him had been covered in ice, the smials and huts indistinguishable from the rolling hills of snow and camps of orcs settled on top, waiting until a hobbit came up for food.

“Smile 'Bo.” Damia reminded lightly, nudging Bilbo's hip with her nose when the little hobbit had stopped, his soft eyes glazing over for a moment too long. Said hobbit fixed a grimace to his face, the expression in his eyes closing off as he watched his daemon lower her shoulders and wag her tail, her mouth falling open into a placid grin. She'd learnt that from Farmer Maggot's terrier in her attempts to make people more at ease around her. It hadn't worked.

The two wandered down the twisting lanes towards Bagshot Row, Bilbo's hands shoved in his pockets, eyes on the boots that looked so unnatural on his feet even after the years of wear. Damia padded along beside him, shepherding him around in order to avoid any hobbits that may cause any problems.

As they reached the smart green door Bilbo looked up, startled when he saw a piece of paper shoved in the letter box, a shape scratched into the paint above it. The hobbit traced over the strange rune with one finger, other hand tugging the envelope, Damia sniffing worriedly around him, not saying a word. He slipped a nail under the seal and pried it off, the cheap wax crumbling away, unraveling the letter:

_Dear Mr Baggins,_

_You are a very hard hobbit to find._

_You will be receiving some visitors in your home tonight regardless of you presence._

_There is the matter of an adventure to address._

_I assume you remember me,_

_Gandalf._

Bilbo stared blankly for a a moment as Damia read over his shoulder, the breath on his neck stopping as her eyes found the signature scrawled at the bottom. His hands fumbled on the paper as he tried to fold it away, his sweat-damp fingers smearing the ink slightly. Damia had gone preternaturally still, reminding Bilbo that, for all the puppyish looks and teasing, his daemon was a predator. He absent-mindedly carded his fingers through her fur, the daemon unconsciously leaning into the touch as the hobbit stared at the strange carving in the little round door.

“What do we do?” Damia said quietly, a growl rolling in her throat.

“We do what we must.” Bilbo's hand flew compulsively to the scarf tied around his neck. “We make dinner.”

“I wouldn't worry too much.” Damia hissed, nosing open the door as Bilbo undid the lock, hackles still raised. “He always has had an issue with arriving too late.”

Bilbo swallowed sharply, fingernails digging softly into the daemon's flank as he tensed all over, the muscles in his slim shoulders bunching up.

“Stop. Please.” Damia whined an apology, wiping her paws delicately on the mat before stepping fully into their home, her huge body slightly too large for the hobbit architecture. “You must be polite. It wasn't his fault that Papa died.” Damia hummed and padded toward the kitchen, Bilbo following closely behind as he shrugged of the blazer and stepped out of the shoes and socks, toes curling into the soft carpet.

“And what about the adventure?” The hobbit paused in tugging an apron over his head and peered through the strings at his daemon, hearing something strange in her voice. The warg sat out of place in the small room, legs curling around the stove and head slightly bent in a well practised position.

“Why?” Bilbo scrambled up onto the counter to reach his recipe book, not making eye contact with Damia as he did so. “Are you interested?”

“Don't use that tone. We both want to.” She said, matter of fact as she began to groom her damp fur. Bilbo slammed a pan down on the counter slightly too hard. “You're as desperate as me to get away from these funny little people who stare and mutter behind our backs.”

“You talk about hobbits like I'm not one.” Bilbo said stiffly, before turning on his heel and to heading towards the pantry, Damia's voice still audible.

“That's exactly what I'm saying. You're a warg. We're both wargs. Not some tame little dogs.” Damia hissed, dangerously quiet, her cool demeanor vanishing. Bilbo's legs wobbled and he gripped tight to the shelf in front of him, his head falling onto the cool wood and his teeth clenching.

“What if I want to be a 'tame little dog'? What if I don't want want an adventure like you do? What if I just want to stay here with my books and my kitchen and my waistcoa-” The hoarse words caught in his throat as a loud banging came from the front of the house, Bilbo dropping the ingredients in his hands. “Damia!”

The daemon skittered to a halt outside the pantry, eyes wide, the cold contempt completely gone. The two stared at each for a moment before Bilbo took a small step forward and curled a hand around Damia's ear, the warg huffing and touching her nose to her hobbit's wrist. It was enough of an apology for now.

“Go round the back, stay quiet.” Bilbo muttered. The pair had faced too much hostility for Damia's unusual form, the sturdy locks on the windows and doors testament of too many bad experiences. The daemon growled and dropped her tail between her legs, her ears flat against her head.

“The moment you want these visitors of the Grey Wizard out, I will be here, Little One. They will not dare force you into anything, only I am allowed to do that."

“Oh Damia.” Bilbo gripped at the long fur on her neck even as the knocking came again, standing on tiptoes to press their foreheads together. “Wish me luck.”

The daemon licked the top of Bilbo's head, the hair sticking out at weird angles and shuffled backwards, tail hitting a round of cheese onto the floor. The hobbit felt the panic welling up again and he pulled his thin leather gloves out of his waistcoat. He tugged them onto his scarred hands before checking that his slippers covered up the worst of the frostbite, taking a deep breath before jogging to the small door. His hands flew over the locks, only pausing when they reached the door handle.

Bilbo didn't get a chance to contemplate running back into the depths of the smial to the guest room holding Damia. Didn't get a chance to think of anything much, apart from a few select curses, before he was thrown back by the weight of the door flying open. He managed to save his head from smashing against the floorboards, seeing a blur of green paint and the shadows of a menacing face glaring around his home as he fell. Bilbo looked up as the man- _dwarf_ \- looked down, the hobbit's eyes going from tattoos to corded muscles, to the knuckledusters then finally to the massive dog at his feet.

This wasn't the kind of dog Damia had been complaining about just minutes ago, almost the same size as his daemon and covered in thick beige fur, jowls drooping slightly to reveal thick, sharp teeth.

“Are you okay, Laddie?” Her voice was surprising to say the least- melodic, quiet and seemingly genuinely concerned for the hobbit sprawled at her feet. “He doesn't know his own strength is all.”

Bilbo looked up at said 'he', who was carefully undoing the buckles holding two great axes to his back, the straps of the holster stretching around his wide shoulders and barrel- like chest. The hobbit gulped, staring up at the bearded face. 'Unaware of his own strength' was the last trait Bilbo would have pinned to this man.

“I'm fine. Just startled.” Bilbo lied, brushing the dust off of his clothes as he clambered to his feet. “Where is Ganda-”

“Dwalin. At your service.” The dwarf interrupted, looking straight above Bilbo's head and through to the kitchen, weapons dropped to the (now dented) floor. His fist swung up to is chest-and for a moment Bilbo was _certain_ he was going to be hit- and the dwarf swept down into a deep bow. The hobbit stood stunned for a moment, staring at the heavily tattooed head of his guest before coming sharply back to his senses, hands scrabbling to pull off the scruffy apron.

“Bilbo Baggins,” he said, awkwardly mimicking the courtesy, “At yours.”

“And my name is Aes, Master Baggins.” The dog said gently. Bilbo watched as the massive daemon dipped her head, looking inquisitively around the smial, obviously looking for another of her kind.

“Her name is Damia, my daemon I mean. She's shy.” Bilbo shrugged, cringing at his biggest lie to date. “Come inside, we were just making tea.”

Dwalin grumbled something completely indistinguishable from the thumping of his boots as he rushed to the dinning table, his daemon following at a much more sedately pace. Bilbo sighed and ran a hand through his hand through his curls, glad that Damia hadn't burst through a door and tried mauling someone. Yet.

A more gentle knock tapped against the door and Bilbo relaxed slightly. The wizard would know how to handle this.

“You're here at las-” For the second time in as many minutes, Bilbo was struck dumb, staring across at yet another dwarf, a dog at least as big as the one currently shedding all over his kitchen at his side. The older dwarf peered around Bilbo at the axes, while simultaneous putting his fist to his chest and saying:

“I see the others have started to arrive... Balin, at your service.” Bilbo made a small squealing sound that may have been a thank you, staring at the impressive white beard. It wasn't the height of hobbit manners, but Bilbo didn't even like visitors when they were _invited_.

“Cyn.” The white daemon said, nodding once, before hurrying past him toward the other guests, shouting out something in a language that Bilbo certainly didn't recognise. The hobbit twisted around just in time to see the two dwarves crush each other in a bear hug, slamming their foreheads together in a way that couldn't have been enjoyable.

Bilbo cradled his suddenly aching head in his hands, trying to block out the sound of the guttural language being shouted in his dining room and a creak that sounded suspiciously like his larder door being opened. The hobbit looked down one of the corridors of his smial to the room his daemon was in, rolling his neck and feeling the joints click as he moved to look out the window for any sign of Gandalf. That blasted wizard was going to have some questions to answer when he finally managed to turn up, courtesy to guests be damned.

Bilbo lifted the heavy velvet curtain off of the cool glass, pressing his face close to see if he could catch a glimpse of the blue glow of Gandalf's staff. What he saw instead was very different, for outside the unassuming and once respectable Bag End, there appeared to be a small lion.

Oh Yavanna, what _had_ he gotten himself into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your support, the amount of response is amazing :) As with last chapter, here are the new daemons:
> 
> Dwalin- [Aes](http://www.jamies-recipes.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/12/l.jpg)
> 
> Balin- [Cyn](http://www.desktopas.com/files/2013/07/Irish-Wolfhound-Dog-In-The-Snow-Wallpaper-900x1200.jpg)
> 
> I know I promised this last time as well but next chapter Bilbo will meet the rest of the dwarrows and the dwarrows will meet Damia.


	4. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo tries to get his head around dwarven etiquette, wizards and the lion eating his petunias.
> 
> Damia meets the dwarrows. It goes about as well as can be expected.

Bilbo's heart stopped in his chest and he scrambled for the door handle, flinging it open to the sight of a dark haired dwarf scrambling up after the daemon, hands pulling on the cat’s tail. He turned his panicked eyes over to the smiling face of another man with a leopard-type animal draped across his wide shoulders, who was trying to peer over his head at the inside of the smial.

“I told you this was the right place you idiots!” The blond shouted and yelped as the daemon tugged at his ear with long white teeth. “Hello Mr Boggins!” Bilbo shuffled backwards into the relative safety of his home, hand gripping at the lock and wondering what he had done to deserve this.

“Why is there a lion eating my petunias?” he asked instead, watching as the dwarf in front of him leant backwards in time to see the great cat outside spit petals over Bilbo’s manicured garden.

“Kíli was dropped on his head as a baby.” said the dwarf unhelpfully as an affronted shout came from the brunet. The boy skidded into his companion as he spoke, the lion not far behind.

“Mama said that was a load of rubbish you elf-” The dark-haired dwarf was cut short as he tripped over the lion daemon, swearing loudly and grabbing a handful of golden braids as the cat hissed and spat underneath his boots. The head attached to the hair tried to break free, shouting over the curses being snarled out by his brother.

“I'm Fíli,” he said, doing his best to bow even as he was elbowed in the face by his brother, and the leopard hissed as she fell from where she was perched, her claws tangling in the long braided hair.

“Kíli.” A growl not too dissimilar from Damia's followed the brunet's announcement, the long canines sinking into the dwarf's arm as the lion that had taken thirty years off Bilbo's life struggled to get out from underneath the pile of bodies.

“Regis.”

“And Amo.” The leopard said, her high voice muffled by the mouthful of hair.

“At your service.” They said in unison, all bright smiles and undertones of well-meaning violence.

“At yours and your family's.” Bilbo wheezed, clutching at the bookshelf, but at least remembering his manners this time. _Oh Eru_ , he needed a drink. The hobbit shuffled back to the kitchen where the two other dwarrows were still sat, muttering about gold and dragons and all number of god awful things.

“Balin!”

“Dwalin!” The two boys and their daemons bellowed and stumbled to their feet, Dwalin laughing in a way that made Bilbo want to cower in a corner somewhere and sweeping both Fíli and Kíli up into a bone crushing hug.

“My little princes and princesses.” said the beige hound daemon of Dwalin's, touching noses with the hyperactive wild cats that were ruining Bilbo's carpets with their sharp claws. The hobbit sincerely hoped that the titles thrown around were purely pet names.

Bilbo reached blindly for one of the scones on the table, staring at the happy reunion and wondering what was happening. And what would happen. He almost choked when the door knocker slammed again, dropping the scone on the ground.

“Someone's at the door.” Bilbo muttered, mind wandering to the books he'd read on dwarves, specifically to the Dwarven attitudes on Orcs. And wargs. What had that blasted wizard been  _thinking_?

Stumbling down the hallway, Bilbo winced at the sound of claws scratching the guest room door and took a deep breath, trying to keep his emotions under control even with the dulled murmur of many voices outside. He pulled open the door quickly before he could think better of it.

Eight dwarrows stood on his porch, weapons slung round their shoulders and daemons of various sizes at their feet. Bilbo squealed and tried slamming the door shut, heavy boots getting stuck in the way as the small hobbit threw his entire weight against it, his loud protests drowned by the chorus of 'At your service'.

“No. You've got the wrong house. No more visitors.” Bilbo said resolutely as the tip of a very familiar looking staff jammed its way through the gap, levering the door open even as Bilbo growled out the wizard's name.

“You've got incredibly impolite since we last met Bilbo Baggins.” The hobbit leapt back at the insult, defensive words cut short as sixteen bodies (some considerably larger than others) toppled on forward. “You must be more careful, it's not like you to leave friends waiting.”

Bilbo stared incredulously up through hair, axes, and various tails at the man leaning causally on his staff, grey robes draped over his deceptively skinny frame and pipe clamped between his thin lips. A low growl echoed from where Damia was audibly pacing, drowned out by the roar of happy dwarven voices and clink of cutlery. The only person other than Bilbo who seemed to hear it was a dwarf hugging an angry looking honey badger to his chest with an axe sticking out of his head. Bilbo whimpered and pulled the threadbare yellow scarf tighter around his neck.

“Gandalf. What is happening?” The hobbit said haltingly as a large red-haired dwarf made a beeline for Bilbo's carefully stocked shelves, a beaver following close behind, claws scratching the polished floorboards.

“You have guests, an event that I have no doubt has not occurred in quite a while.” The wizard muttered, looking over the throng of dwarves with a benevolent smile and completely ignoring the blushing hobbit. “Could you put on a few eggs my dear Bilbo? And bring over some red wine?”

“I- Just- In a-” Bilbo took a deep breath and pulled at the cuffs of his shirt, standing up a bit straighter. “I am going to inform Damia of the nature of our guests.”

The sudden sheepishness that twisted the wizard's features was almost worth the fear that pulled at Bilbo's lungs.

“These dwarrows, they will not judge Damia too harshly for her form.” The hobbit hissed out a breath through his teeth and tugged anxiously at the fingers of his gloves.

“Yes they will, that's what people _do_. And usually we just have to deal gossiping, but these dwarrows they have...” Bilbo gestured to the pile of weapons in the corner and trailed off as a dwarf with intricate white braids circling his head cut in between the two. “You had no right. No right to put her in danger, put _me_ in danger.”

“To think I have lived to see the day Belladonna Took's son says 'No right' to me.” Gandalf said a little sadly, looking down at the smaller man who was shaking where he stood, all pent up tension and fear. The wizard frowned slightly and settled a gentle hand on Bilbo's curls, trying to picture the little faunt he'd last seen stretching his arms around the neck of a great warg and crying out in her defence. “This place is not good for you, your soul was cemented in adventure and violence, Damia does not belong here.”

“My father was a Baggins, he treasured my safety above all else, and that's what we have here. Please Gandalf, just get them out of here.”

“I'm afraid I cannot do that, I've made a promise.” Bilbo seemed to visibly deflate, all the fight leaving him as his shoulders slumped.

“Just protect Damia then, if they find out.”

“You worry too much, of course I will Bilbo, don't ever doubt-” Gandalf didn't get to finish, instead being interrupted by a steady beat of cutlery against wood starting up in the room across, the loud buzz of many deep voices swamping the hushed conversation. The hobbit's lips stretched upwards into a grimace and he was gone from Gandalf line of sight in a flash of burgundy waistcoat and pained scowl.

Bilbo walked into his dining room, his and Damia's little place of refuge, to see the brown- haired dwarf from earlier and the frankly terrifying Dwalin attempting to sword fight with his father's best cutlery, the other dwarrows decimating his pantry around them. Something desperate gripped at him and, warg daemon or not, Bilbo was scared and stressed and his voice unbearably squeaky.

“Oh, please stop it!”

A raven turned to him from where he had been tearing at his tablecloth seemingly unconsciously with his long talons and laughed.

“Alright then, you heard the halfling, lets clear up.” Something heavy settled in his stomach as the dwarrows laughed, still smarting from the name. One of the younger brothers was the first to move, chucking a plate like a frisbee at an older dwarf.  Bilbo clenched his eyes closed to prepare himself for the inevitable sound of his mother's best china smashing, but it never came. In a rush of movement the empty plates were being moved around the packed room at incredibly high speeds, Bilbo's heart in his throat.

“Please do be careful!” Bilbo squealed as a column of bowls wobbled precariously, something angry and altogether not fit for a gentle hobbit such as himself burning in his throat. He was just angry enough to ignore the growing sound of the heavy padding outside and the steady rumble of a growl making its way through the smial. “Don't bother, I can quite manage!”

The dwarrows, oblivious to their host's growing temper, began to sing possibly the boisterous and just plain insulting song Bilbo had ever heard, Gandalf slumped back in a too-small chair looking on with a happy smile.

 

_“Chip the glasses and crack the plates!_   
_Blunt the knives and bent the forks!_   
_That's what Bilbo Baggins hates-_   
_Smash the bottles and burn the corks!_

_"Cut the cloth and tread on the fat!_   
_Pour the milk on the pantry floor!_   
_Leave the bones on the bedroom mat!  
Splash the wine on ever-”_

 

The bang of a door flying back on it's hinges stopped the singing abruptly, Bilbo's pulse thumping in his ears as he readied himself to run, Gandalf's promises be damned.

Near silence settled on the room, the only sounds the low rumble of a snarl and the occasional creak of a chair, all the dwarrows and their daemon's too stunned to move. Damia prowled the edge of the group, her ears pressed back against her head and her lip curled up over her fangs. With an eerie calmness she rounded on a small fox-like creature with large ears hiding in the folds of a knitted scarf.

“Put that doily down and be silent or I swear I'll skin every single one of you,” Damia spat the words, each well-pronounced vowel curling off of her tongue in a growl that made the fox disappear further into the wool. “And use your beards to clean up the mess you have made.”

She snapped her teeth in emphasis, the noise startling most of the dwarrows into frantic action with weapons being pulled out of seemingly no where. 'Kill it!' seemed to be the phrase of choice from most, the petunia-eating lion instead trying to leap to Bilbo's rescue, only to get batted away by a massive paw and a bark.

“Tracking dirt through the carpets, ruining our pack-mother's possessions, have you no manners?”

Damia was caught half way through her rant by Dwalin charging her with an axe that must have been well hidden by his cloak. Before his daemon could do something as uncouth as decapitating a guest, Bilbo slid between the pair with his arms outstretched and his face flinching away.

“I beg you, please stop it!” Satisfied that the dwarrows weren't going to do anything drastic for the next couple of moments, Bilbo turned on his daemon. “And _you,_ what are you thinking, treating visitors in such a way? I am ashamed of you.”

“The warg... it is your daemon?” muttered one of the dwarrows who may have been Balin, breaking the choked silence that had swamped the group.

“She. And yes, this is Damia.”

“And you would do well to remember that.” The warg muttered, baring her teeth at the other daemons. Bilbo turned on Damia again and shoved at her massive shoulder, scowling up at her before turning back to his guests with a decidedly sheepish expression.

“She's terribly rude, I am so sorry.” Damia grumbled but Gandalf just fixed the hobbit before him with an appraising stare, biting at the stem of his pipe and exchanging a glance with Shadowfax.

The dwarrows, the food forgotten, continued to watch as Dwalin fell back into his chair and let his axe fall still across his knees. After a heavy pause a ferret crawled to the top of the bread bin, her tail flicking nervously behind her, coughing to get the ancient wizard's attention.

“This is why you called us here? For the warg?”

“Yes, among other things.” Bilbo pressed harder against Damia to keep her from doing something entirely un-hobbitish, and looked pleadingly up at Gandalf. “Oh don't give me that look Bilbo Baggins, I knew they wouldn't hurt her.”

“Oh Mahal,” whispered the lion as she looked from Damia to Bilbo and back again, the fur on her back standing up, pressing against Fíli's leg. The group turned their attention to the young dwarf who was clutching at his brother's sleeve and looking conflicted, an unspoken question hanging in the air. “Uncle's going to be _so_ pissed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to do a chapter centered around each dwarf's relationship with Bilbo and will give you a link to how I imagine their daemons after each one. For now, here are the Durin brothers':
> 
>  
> 
> [Regis](http://i.telegraph.co.uk/multimedia/archive/01424/pluth_lion_1424781c.jpg)
> 
>  
> 
> [Amo](http://awfborneoproject.files.wordpress.com/2012/02/sunda-clouded-leopard-new-cat.jpg)
> 
>  
> 
>  Whose daemon is whose will become clear later on...
> 
> Anyway, thank you so much for the positive responses, this is great fun to write :) x


	5. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Allow me first to introduce to you the leaders of our company- Thorin Oakenshield and Sola... Wargslayer.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, 10K and they haven't even left Bag End...

Thorin couldn't hear a sound coming from within the small home, the only sign of life the light spilling from the little circular windows in the grass walls. This should have been warning enough, in retrospect, but a soft head pressing into the palm of his hand distracted him, the baleful eyes of his daemon calming the worry twisting in his stomach. His boots cracked against the fine gravel as he neared the door, muted noise now audible from inside as he raised a fist to the marked wood. Glancing a final time at the lynx whose height almost matched his own, he knocked once, the night air preternaturally still in the wake of the sound.

The dependence on whoever dwelt within this delicate home of earth made Thorin feel sick to his core with something like anger and perhaps a little guilt. The mighty line of Durin bought to beg at the door of a halfling thief for their services. Sola pressed hard against his leg at the click of a latch, the tension bouncing between their bond as a crack of light slowly appeared, blocked only by the silhouette of a small figure.

“So this is the hobbit.” He had every right to sound derisive, he reasoned to himself, with the slight frame of the man -or at least who he _thinks_ is a man- shivering on the doorstep. The strange creature barely glanced at him, undeniably sharp gaze fixed on Sola, almost as if sizing her up for a fight. Thorin took a large step forward at the sight of his sister-son's bow shoved in a pile of familiar weapons, the halfling flinched backwards, almost tripping into his little home.

“Bilbo Baggins.” he said almost as if on reflex, the Grey Wizard appearing bent double behind the supposed burglar. The light in the hallway highlighted the hobbit's- Baggin's- features, all smile lines and light brown curls.

“Looks more like a grocer than a burglar.” A pained sound comes from further into the house, Baggins still alternating nervous looks from Sola to the maze of corridors behind him. Thorin leant forward to peer into the room closest to him, the halfling stumbling backwards into the wizard, his hands twisting nervously.

Crowded around a small dining room were his company and their daemons, all deathly silent save for the creak of furniture and Amo sinking her claws into a plush rug. Thorin frowned at Dwalin who just cringed over the china teacup he was hiding behind, his ever present knuckledusters placed neatly on a handkerchief on his lap. The words that fall from his lips next come unbidden, even as Fìli shook his head desperately in his direction.

“Where is your daemon?” Thorin unconsciously tightened his grip on the worn handle of his axe, the stricken expression on the halfling's face making him painfully aware of each movement. “A small rodent of some kind, I presume?”

The wizard outright laughs at this, the hobbit looking resigned and  _pitying._

“Rude.” A mass of gold fur he was sure wasn't there seconds ago blocked the doorway, the very picture of calm except for the ears folding back against its head. Thorin didn't even think when he pulled his axe from his belt, the muscles along Sola's back coiling and ready to spring as he took in the monster not _quite_ managing to look comfortable in the little burrow.

“Back!” He barked, eyes flicking for the nearest exit as the warg stretched her lips into a dog-like grin at his words, pacing over to flank the shivering halfling.

“Oh please stop this, nobody hurt anyone!” He tugged on the wizard's long sleeve. “Gandalf tell them!”

“You can tell me nothing I already know!” Thorin snarled. This seemed the last straw for Sola, various ornaments going flying as she leapt at the warg, the two daemons growling and yelping at each other as they collided. The little halfling joined the sound as Sola's claws caught on the golden fur, moving desperately toward the pair, muttering muddled and increasingly panicked platitudes.

“Damia, don't do this! Oh Yavanna, _the carpets...”_

“It's your daemon? Stop it!” The hobbit turned on him suddenly, shoulders rising like a startled cat.

“You think I'm not trying to?” Baggins spat, shouting as a faint claw mark ran suddenly along his jaw. Thorin looked to his company, all on edge but still unmoving, watching the fight with a detached amazement as the hobbit took to throwing things at the two daemons. Thorin clenched harder on the handle of his axe, scared that if he moved he'd join Sola in the fight, the bond between them strong and filled with her protective rage.

It all ended as abruptly as it had started, the warg unpractised and increasingly sharing in its master's fear. Sola had it pinned, her powerful jaws hovering just over the neck of her opponent, the only remaining sound in the room heavy breathing and the occasional whimper. Baggins had fallen with his daemon, hands wrapped protectively around his neck and looking on the verge of passing out.

“Enough.” The wizard's voice was blunt but resigned as he bought his staff between the two animals, sending a look at Thorin that was all ice and fury. “Now you've got that out of your system, we can talk reasonably.”

Sola thrashed against the staff at this announcement, her claws flashing in an attempt to get to the growling warg, choking when Gandalf moved his weapon to her neck.

“Are you really going to murder our burglar?” Thorin's daemon froze, an angry growl rolling in her throat as the creature underneath her struggled to get away, powerful legs scratching against the floor and Sola's unprotected flank. Thorin looked to her and nodded once, still not taking his eyes off of the halfling. She moved away in one fluid moment, Regis running to meet her from across the room, starting to search for injuries.

“If we needed a guard dog we could have hired a wild one from Bree.” Thorin said coldly, looking down at the battered pair. The warg got slowly to her feet, tail hanging low and her eyes carefully on the floor, retreating slightly into the dark corner from where she came, only her golden eyes visible in the candle light. Thorin looked down at the halfling who was carefully brushing off his shirt with shaking hands, his entire frame moving with each shallow yet controlled breath. He reached slowly down and offered his hand, watching out of his peripheral vision as his company tensed once more and a weak bark came from the warg. Baggins looked nervously up at him through sweat- damp curls, his eyes shadowed and the little wound on his face stark against the pale, clammy skin. When he edged slowly away, clutching at furniture, Thorin refused to feel guilty about the fear in the hobbit's face.

“Damia is more than a guard dog- with Mr Baggins at her side they are perfect for this kind of expedition.” Gandalf said. He looked down at the little creature again, though in truth he was not that much taller, and took in the beardless face and un-marred skin.

“I haven't agreed to go on this adventure Gandalf.” he muttered, hugging his arms around himself and staring off in the direction of his daemon, refusing to meet the wizard's eyes.

“Don't be too hasty my dear Bilbo, sit and listen first.” Baggins looked Thorin in the eyes for the first time, his gaze wide and scared, before moving to perch on a bench pulled next to the table. Kili scrambled to his feet in the silence that followed, pressing a warm bowl of soup into Thorin's hands and throwing a disapproving look between him and the hobbit. Thorin grunted and fell into a chair, feeling Sola curl around the back, her bright eyes following every movement from over his shoulder.

The boy knew nothing of what wargs could do.

“Go on then,” the halfling said tiredly, his head resting on one of his gloved hands, “tell me who these dwarrows of yours are.”

Gandalf shifted somewhat guiltily, laying what Thorin supposed was a comforting hand on Baggins' shoulder and started to gesture around the group, rattling off the rhyming names with ease.

“And lastly, allow me first to introduce to you the leaders of our company- Thorin Oakenshield and Sola... Wargslayer.” The halfling nodded slowly at this, his face twisting into a grimace as Gloin coughed awkwardly, the wizard moving quickly on to cover the painful silence. Thorin could feel Sola's gaze stay fixed on the hobbit, a quiet threat that leaked out of every unspoken word, making him feel pride and bitterness in equal measure. They had earned those names, and the hobbit and his beast would do well to remember it.

The rest of the conversation went in a blur, leaving Thorin clutching cold metal to his palm, the weight of the key a small comfort in the uproar that came from the wizard's speech. Thorin watched the halfling carefully as his role was made clear to him, his entire body freezing like a prey animal as the attention turned to him, Balin leaning over the table and setting down the contract.

“Lacerations? Evisceration?” It was the first words he had spoken in a while, and the mild hum of chatter around him was cut off as the hobbit hurriedly turned the page, running a frantic hand down the text as he spoke as if almost to himself. “Incineration?”

“Oh yes.” Bofur's daemon said cheerfully, swinging off of the side of his hat and smiling at the hobbit. “Dragons can melt the flesh of your bones.”

“You all right laddie?” said Aes, her head resting on Dwalin's thigh. Baggins hummed slightly and gripped hard at the table with one hand.

“Think furnace, with wings,” Bofur continued, leaning up against the wall. “A flash of light, searing pain, then-”

A growl interrupted the dwarf, the warg prowling carefully around the group to it's hobbit with its whole body low to the ground and defensive. The halfling grabbed a chunk of golden fur, ignoring the hiss that came from Sola, and pulled himself carefully up, leaving the contract lying discarded on the floor.

“I think I need to... I think I need to go- go upstairs and think. Now.” Not one member of the company said anything as the hobbit was quietly escorted out of the dining room, the atmosphere unusually tense and unnerving. The wizard stood as Baggins disappeared from view, his face dark and angry as he turned to where Bofur stood, guiltily examining his hands.

“I hope you are proud of yourself,” Gandalf turned quickly on Thorin, his cold gaze falling on Sola. “And you two, you should be ashamed. You may have doomed this quest before it has even begun.”

In a flash of grey he was out of sight, his staff clicking against the wood floors as he stalked through the little burrow. Thorin turned to his company, all of them in varying states of shock and fear, food and ale still caught in their beards or halfway to their mouths.

“I don't want that warg anywhere near Ori.” Dori said, breaking the moment, as the distraught white doe by his shoulder nodded fervently. A couple of voices grumbled in agreement as Thorin went back to staring into his bowl, his spoon moving mechanically in his grip and his hair falling to shadow his face.

“Did you _see_ it?” Kíli said, awestruck, “I'm surprised it could even fit in this little house of his... and her and Sola going at each other like that? Dear Mahal, that was terrifying!”

All eyes fell on Thorin, who didn't even glance up, suddenly conscious of the ache down his side from where the warg had injured Sola. There was a long pause as they waited for him to speak, the fight still fresh in their minds and the older dwarrows dwelling on when they last dealt with wargs and their masters.

“I wouldn't worry about the warg.” The group started suddenly as Dwalin spoke, his butter knife systematically stabbing at the bone on his plate, his eyes blank and jaw clenched. “It's that halfling I don't like.”

“Wha-” Kíli was cut short by a well-aimed kick from his brother, the dark look in Dwalin's eyes earning total silence, even from Bifur.

“Daemons take the form of whatever suits a dwarf's innermost thoughts and personality. Who's to say it isn't the same for these strange folk?” Thorin watched as various members of the company unconsciously tugged their daemons closer, Regis curling protectively around Kili, her fur still stuck on end from the fright. “We all saw how he shared the beast's injuries, that's a strong bond if ever I've seen it. Never seen _that_ kind of daemon before either.”

“Unless, of course, we're including orcs.” Balin said softly, staring up at the ceiling from where they could hear pacing footsteps and raised, muffled voices.

“Who better to help us fight a dragon?” Bombur said solemnly, his brother frowning softly at him as the group turned their attention to the large dwarf. “I think, if he agrees to come, we should welcome him. We're not exactly in a position to be choosy with who we bring along.”

“And if he betrays us for his daemon's kin, what then?” Thorin said gruffly, keeping a steady hand on Sola's shoulder. Bombur shrugged and went back to eating, his forehead creased in a frown and his daemon scratching anxiously at the table leg.

“Then we deal with the consequences.” Nori muttered from the corner, juggling a lock pick and a chunk of bread between his quick hands. “And I doubt even orcs are stupid enough to be as obvious in planting a spy in our midst. If they really wanted to infiltrate the company they'd chose someone with a daemon a little less threatening.”

“The wizard trusts him.” Thorin hummed, pushing his bowl out in front of him and running a hand over his axe.

“So what do you say? Do we let him come with us?” Fíli said quietly, staring fixedly at the key hanging between Thorin's fingers.

“Yes.” Thorin felt Sola tense beneath his hand. “I think we are going to have to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thorin- [Sola](http://static.guim.co.uk/sys-images/Guardian/Pix/pictures/2011/3/15/1300205217662/Iberian-Lynx-007.jpg)
> 
> I apologise for any typos and mistakes, thank you so much for all of the lovely comments and kudos xx


	6. IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Bombur and Bofur, Bifur always had a knack for extending his little family, one straggler at a time.

“This was possibly the worst decision I have every made.” Bilbo muttered as he watched his hands grip tight on the ruff of fur around Damia's neck. “Actually, scrap that. This is the worst decision _you've_ ever made.”

“I distinctly remember you signing the contract.” Damia said happily, her long strides keeping pace behind the group of ponies, even with the hobbit clinging precariously to her back. It turned out that the animals didn't like Bilbo much, but at least with a warg walking behind them they went a little faster.

“And I bloody hate myself for it. I hate you for it. And these confounded dwarrows certainly hate _us_ for it.” Damia raised her nose to the slowly setting sun and blinked up at it, seeming unaware of her hobbit's discomfort.

“Well hate is better than fear. Hate means respect for these dwarrows.” Bilbo bit his lip and looked down at his daemon, so different to him, and let his mind wander hesitantly back to all the times a hobbit had cowered at the sight of her.

“I know, I know... I just wish there was a better way of getting away from it all than going on a suicide mission with a group of frankly terrifying dwarrows.”

“They aren't so bad.”

“That one over there has done nothing but sharpen his axe and stare at us ever since we left Bag End.” Said dwarf shot another glare at him, slipping polished knuckledusters carefully on and off his calloused hands.

“Well stop complaining then,” Damia snapped, making Gandalf turn around from the front of the group and send them a worried look over their companion's heads. “We both need this.”

“The last adventure you dragged me on ended rather badly for us, wouldn’t you say Damia?” Bilbo hissed almost inaudibly, not looking up from his gloves as he spoke. His daemon span around at his words, coming to an abrupt stop and tugging sharply at Bilbo's boot so he fell to the ground with a stumble, only the impression of words clear through their bond. The rest of the company had stopped as well, Gandalf riding around them to watch the tense stand off between warg and hobbit.

“We stop here for the night then.” The wizard said, sliding off his horse daemon with practised ease. Thorin Oakenshield spun around at the words with what seemed to be a permanent scowl etched onto his features.

“No. It has been two days since we left the town of the halflings and yet we have only just crossed over the Weather Hills. We must push onwards.”

“The Lonely Mountain is going nowhere, and your company needs to rest more than anything else.” The assorted dwarrows said nothing either way, their tired eyes and slow limbs speaking for them.

Bilbo stalked in the direction of where a quick campfire was being put together by a dwarf with a strange, extravagant hat, who had began to scoop up wood as soon as the little procession of travellers had stopped. The others milled around, grunting quietly to each other with their daemons lopping around their feet, silent for the most part except for the occasional burst of chatter from leopard creature. Sleeping mats where laid out in a way Bilbo was quickly coming to realise was the norm, clustered around the campfire with a small space set aside for the night watch, the food pack kept close to where the smoke would soon billow in order to keep insects off.

Damia had gone and curled up in the shadow of a great tree on the fringe of the forest they had been entering, her tail curling up in front her eyes. Bilbo felt guilt twist in his gut as he turned sharply away from her to the little flame that had been started, feeling bad for his sharp words and longing for her company in this group of hostile strangers. A large dwarf nudged him out of his daydream and pushed a hunk of bread into his hand with a small half smile, the massive plaits hanging low on his neck, twitching as he spoke.

“To keep you going until I can heat up some of that stew.” Bilbo muttered a thank you, grabbing at the bread even as he scolded himself for his bad manners. The dwarf was still hovering next to him when he glanced up again, the beaver daemon by his feet tapping his long tail against the ground in what seemed to be a nervous twitch. “You go sit next to my cousin little halfling, get away from these boisterous dwarrows and whatever nonsense is happening with that warg of yours.”

Bilbo disliked the lilting, patronising tone of this dwarf’s voice but looked over to where he had gestured regardless, not really in the position to turn down any friendly actions. Sat, much like Damia, on his own in a shady corner of the unofficial camp, was a dwarf with tangled black and white hair and a foul-tempered badger sprawled across his legs. And what appeared to be an part of an axe sticking out of his forehead.

“Erm, well, you see... I'm quite all right here rea-”

“Oh, never you mind about that old wound, Bifur's too soft hearted for his own good, despite appearance. Neither him nor that blasted honey badger of his talk much, but they're good dwarrows and more respectful than this lot.”

Bilbo nodded slowly, watching as the dwarf- Bifur- turned something over in his hands, a small knife striking it in a quick, repetitive motion.

“Okay, I think I will, I need the peace.” The hobbit looked up at the unexpectedly kind dwarf with a small smile, “Thank you...?”

“Call me Bombur, hobbit. And this here is Iuvo. I'll bring over your food when its done.” The dwarf said with an answering grin, tousling Bilbo's hair before gesturing down to the beaver half covered by the pack of food. Bombur almost continued on, but paused for a moment to send a weak glare around the camp. “And don't you go listening to these idiots about your daemon, prejudices run deep in our race and we are stubborn against change. They'll come to their senses soon enough.”

Bilbo was supremely doubtful but nodded anyway, moving quick hands to flatten his unruly hair as Bombur turned to start on the food. The hobbit moved cautiously to the log on which Bombur's cousin sat, surprised when Bifur didn't even move to acknowledge his presence, his daemon only looking up momentarily to scowl at Bilbo.

Sitting on the soft wood he soon forgot about his companion, the small pieces of muttered sentences in what Bilbo assumed was the tongue of the dwarves fading into the clamour of different deep voices around the camp. Bombur had forgotten to come and give him some food, swept into what appeared to be some kind of poker game with a small group of the more rowdy travellers, including Gandalf. The heat of the fire was making his hands itch uncomfortably under his gloves and he turned from the wizard to look anxiously at Bifur out of the corner of his vision. The dwarf's eyes were cloudy and fixed purely on the little, shapeless carving he was gripping, his thick hair half obscuring his face. Checking that the badger still had its head tucked into the end of the dwarf's beard, Bilbo tugged at the tips of his gloves one by one, the leather creaking as it stretched. The firelight flickered on the pale skin, casting shadows over the blistered flesh, the frostbite scars faded with time and the digits slightly shorter that normal. Casting another nervous look across the group of busy dwarrows, Bilbo spread his fingers wide and pressed them against the fabric of his trousers, a small huff escaping him as they ached dully.

The details of the story accompanying the wounds was blurred and forced to the back of Bilbo's mind, coming back to him when it snowed or his father's birthday came round again. Now, under wild trees and surrounded by dwarrows, it made him think back to the rushed discussion between him and Damia the night before they left. It had been loud and angry, the hobbit still shaken from the encounter with the daemon that had reacted so viciously and Damia whipped into something like a war frenzy.

“ _We were not born for this life Little One, our need for adventure runs in our very blood! We are predators, we should be running free and hunting with a pack!”_ She had ranted, pacing across the bedroom as Bilbo leant heavily on a chest of draws, his chest heaving.

“ _Before you settled you were not like this, regardless of what you say, we are Baggins and born in The Shire, whatever form you take you are a Hobbit just as much as a warg!”_

“ _If anything, before The Fell Winter- don't flinch from it 'Bo, it is only a name- I wanted adventures even more than I do now. Right now I don't care who we see or save I just want to escape.”_

“ _Escape from what? The Shire is safer than any other place, you know this!”_ Bilbo has the vague memory of shouting, blushing now as he realised the dwarrows must have clearly heard the tears in his voice.

“ _Escape from the staring of these confounded hobbits and the fear, escape from your decades long rut of self pity and anger at me... your own soul!”_

Bilbo was jolted forcefully out of his memories, almost falling backwards off the log in his fright, as a rough hand closing around his wrist. He looked at the dark eyes of Bifur and pulled back desperately, not able to find his voice in the shock and panic. He found the dwarf's glare fixed on his hands and yelped for the first time, scrabbling for his gloves that had slipped off his knees with his free hand. He felt Damia jump to her feet, the heartbeat of the warg thumping in his ears.

“Let go...” he said said weakly, “Get off me!” Bifur's hands left his own as if he had been burnt, hurriedly growling something in his own language and looking desperately to his daemon. The badger remained silent, staring at the hobbit in a way that would have made Bilbo distinctly uncomfortable if he didn't have bigger things to worry about. The dwarf was gesturing frantically, more animated than he had been since he had burst into Bag End, eyes searching Bilbo's own for some kind of understanding.

Bifur said something tiredly and signed for Bilbo to stay as he grabbed for his gloves again. Damia stood stock still on the other side of the crowd of dwarrows, too scared to cause a scene but staring fixedly at the little, one-sided conversation.

“Listen, I don't understand. Would you- Can I _please_ put my gloves back on?” Bilbo's face, already warmed by the fire, must have have been glowing with embarrassment, yet the dwarf still couldn't get him to understand anything more than 'stay'. Bifur sighed loudly and put his head in his hands, squishing his daemon slightly, and running his fingers compulsively over the axe head. As quickly as he'd arrived, the dwarf jerked up and smiled disarmingly at Bilbo. Shocked into smiling back, he watched as the dwarf rushed over to the dwarf in the hat and forcibly pulled the pack from underneath him, causing an uproar of laughter and an indignant squawk. He clutched his hands together as he waited for the odd dwarf, wanting to hide the worst of his scars but still scared stiff of Bifur and his daemon. Disabilities weren't appreciated in the Shire, not ones that made it hard to farm or provide and made a hobbit look unhealthy. Bilbo swallowed heavily as Bifur came back, muttering something with his face creased into a frown, the other dwarf trailing behind him with his weasel daemon riding in his hat.

“Bifur wants to apologise for scaring you... why? What did he do?” Bifur cuffed the other dwarf around the head for the question, lowering himself down slowly onto the log beside Bilbo. His arms spread in a placating gesture. Reaching across into his pocket he pulled out a little leather pouch that had been tied to the other dwarf's pack and opened it up, reaching surprisingly gently for Bilbo's hands. The other dwarf hummed in understanding when he saw the old scars, eyes running over the slightly too short fingers with a grim expression and motioned for Bifur to continue. Bilbo watched in stunned silence as a bit of cream was taken from the pouch and spread carefully around the axe protruding from Bifur's forehead, the dwarf almost going cross- eyed in concentration. “It helps with the itch of old injuries, he was wondering if you would like some, didn't mean to frighten you so much.”

“Oh, well, okay then.” Bilbo said anxiously, shooting a look at Damia to make sure she knew he was safer now. Bifur grunted happily at the answer, his rough hands taking Bilbo's own and starting to put the ointment onto the worst of the damaged tissue, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “Tell him thank you.”

“No need for that, war wounds shouldn't go untreated.” The weasel said happily, jumping onto her dwarf's shoulder and curling around his neck in one smooth motion.

“Well, these- er... these aren't war wounds, they're frostbite.”

“We know that, still shows you've been through something doesn't it- from forge, battle or the elements. Nothin' to be ashamed of.” The dwarf said cheerfully, knocking Bilbo's shoulder playfully and smiling indulgently at his daemon as she stole away one of the gloves that was still on the ground. Bilbo was utterly shocked, the cream cooling his aching hands and Bifur taking the other glove with a smile that looked a lot like he was baring his teeth. “No need to hide your battle wounds here, they're pretty impressive really. Now come over to the fire and warm yourself up a bit, you must be freezing in that waistcoat of yours.”

“Oh no, it's quite alright, I can stay here.” Bilbo said awkwardly, looking pleadingly to Damia, who just looked rather smug.

“Don't be silly lad, you can call over that daemon of yours as well, there's no good in arguing with something that's part of you.”

“You don't have to do this you know.” Bilbo said quickly, the words muffled as he stared down at his boots, the injuries under them similar to those on his hands.

“Pfft. Nonsense. Even if I didn't want you around I'd have a hard time getting you away from Bifur now he's gone and become invested in your welfare.” Bilbo turned sheepishly around in time to see Bifur growl what sounded like an insult and punch the other dwarf in the side with a heavy fist. Something warm twisted in his chest as he called Damia over, shoving his hands in her fur and muttering an apology even as she looked suspiciously to the two dwarrows.

“Who the hell are you?” she said, quiet enough to not be overheard by the main crowd.

“Bofur.”

“Felix.” said the weasel, leaping from Bofur to the warg and perching on the span of her shoulders to look the other daemon in the eyes, seeming completely at ease with the large predator.

“And this is Bifur and Levis, our cousin.” Bofur finished, grin becoming slightly strained as he watched his daemon's display of unconcern for her own well-being. Bilbo dug an elbow into Damia's side in warning but she just huffed at him and turned her attention back to the smaller creature at her shoulder, unused to contact with another daemon.

“Hello.” she said, her voice rather feeble compared to her earlier, challenging tone. Bilbo's heart seemed to swell as he looked at the tentative interaction, Bifur's hand on his arm leading him steadily towards an empty place around the campfire, ignoring the deep scowl from Oakenshield.

Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise promise promise I'll clear up some of the mystery surrounding the wargs next, I got a bit carried away with writing for the 'Ur family and kind of forgot to continue the plot line -_-
> 
> In explanation of the (not medically accurate) frostbite, it has relevance in future chapters so just bare with it :)
> 
> Bombur- [Iuvo](http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/6/6b/American_Beaver.jpg) (Cute and chubby but could totally fuck you up)
> 
> Bifur-[ Levis](http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/a/af/Honey_badger.jpg)
> 
> Bofur- [Felix](https://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&;v=d2CTVqt2wxU) (Video but no sound)
> 
> Thank you again for all the feedback, the comments help so much and the kudos are great motivation :) xx


	7. V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Did you know that orcs were once elves?” The wizard said mildly, his soft voice just audible above Bilbo's heavy breaths._

Bilbo couldn't sleep. Which meant Damia couldn't either. 'Bo was slumped at her side, squished between her flank and a bedroll, compulsively plaiting little bits of her coat as he waited to become tired enough to sleep. Damia huffed loudly and swung her head on top of her hobbit, effectively squishing him and stopping him from squirming so much. The beardless dwarf was gawking at her, open mouthed and almost spooning stew over his shoulder in his concentration, his cat daemon watching carefully with wide eyes. Damia snapped her teeth at this dark- haired one and he tumbled backwards into his brother, yelping in fright and dragging the little lion across onto his own lap with an undignified squeak. Bilbo sat up at the little noise, flicking Damia's ear at the disruption and turning over to face the little group around the dwindling fire.

The Grey Wizard sat at the edge of the little crowd, blowing blue smoke rings into the night air and smiling over the sleeping dwarrows and their strange assortment of daemons. Wargslayer lounged close to her dwarf, whose black hair shadowed his entire face in darkness, her body still but her eyes sharp and focused. Damia shivered and grabbed the collar of her hobbit's shirt to pull him closer in and out of sight, 'Bo grunting sleepily and pushing back with his tiny hands. They were without the gloves for the first time in a while- the Badger's dwarf having wrapped the injured fingers in strips of cloth taken from the healer of the company.

Damia licked 'Bo's wrist, trying to comfort him from the troubled, angry thoughts that buzzed round in his strange hobbit mind. She worried for him, bunching up all the growling emotions and words as he did, letting them only surface through her own rage.

“S'op thinkin' 'Mia.” Her hobbit mumbled, nudging her leg gently with is foot and burrowing deeper into the thick fur on her chest. Damia licked a long stripe down the back of his head just to annoy him before settling back onto the rocky ground.

_**run.** _

Both warg and hobbit jolted upright, 'Bo's hair in disarray and Damia letting out a muted snarl at the distant yet familiar sound of howling. A guttural scream broke the absolute silence that had descended on the dwarrows, making shivers run down Damia's spine and the leader of the company- Oakenshield- reach quickly for his axe.

"What was that?” Bilbo said, voice panicked but still heavy with sleep, his golden eyes blurry and wide. The oldest dwarf, who had been hidden from view by the white dog, shot a look at Damia's hobbit, the rest of the group save Gandalf looking out over the cliff to the dark horizon.

“Orcs.” said the blond dwarf around his pipe, smirking like a Took and twisting the fur of the leopard daemon between his fingers.

“Orcs?” 'Bo said weakly, touching nervously at his hands and climbing to his feet, Damia pressed firmly against his side.

“Throat-cutters, they'll be dozens of them out there, the lowlands are crawling with them.” The dwarf stopped quickly when his brother not-so-subtly elbowed him in the ribs, casting a meaningful look at Damia.

“But, those... they didn't-”

_**run sister, take your pup and run. the pale orc rides for your alpha's blood and will not stop until this world is free from your pack.** _

Damia whined and grabbed at her hobbit's sleeve, dragging him down low and stepping quickly between him and where the voice was coming from. Wargslayer hissed and slunk closer to the fire, her coat shining in the yellow light and her paws silent on the hard ground.

“Wizard.” Damia snarled, looking searchingly into 'Bo's pale face as he stared worriedly over towards the horizon.

“Yes Damia?” The Grey One said calmly, tapping out his pipe on an outcrop of rock and pulling himself to his feet, being deliberately obtuse, as was his way.

“We need to talk.” The wizard hummed and flicked a hand for them to follow towards the ponies, no doubt worried by the blunt and _tired_ twist to the little hobbit's voice, face shadowed with anger and memories. Damia almost ran at the man, pulling 'Bo along as he clung to her side, moving quickly along the water-logged soil and away from the sheer drop into the forest below. She felt a presence behind her before she heard the unmistakable growl of the lynx, desperately twisting and slipping on the loose earth, sending rocks flying and making Bilbo panic as she yelped.

“Anything that needs to be said can be said here.” Oakenshield's voice was menacing yet quiet enough so not to wake the others, the soft pad of his boots mirroring his daemon's as she started to circle around Damia and 'Bo.

“There is no need for that.” Gandalf said disapprovingly, frowning from under his hat and wandering down towards the confrontation. Wargslayer bared her teeth and tensed, moving slowly up to face Damia, even as the warg tripped over her own feet to move backwards. Damia felt little fists pushing at her waist and turned around, shocked, to see Bilbo almost wild-eyed with fury, his lips pulled back in an echo of the lynx in front of him. He clambered around his daemon to stare down at Wargslayer, Damia whimpering and trying to pull him up and back, looking to the Grey One for any sign of help.

“How _dare_ you?” Bilbo hissed, jabbing a shaking finger at the daemon that had moved to be at eye level too him. “You may be rulers- but you're certainly not ours! We have a right to talk about this quest with Gandalf if we want to. We were not informed of orcs. We were not informed that I was leaving my home to help a- a big bully!”

There was no way anyone was still sleeping as the shrill voice echoed around the little circle of stone, Bilbo red-faced and breathing heavily, his face millimetres from Wargslayer's and his eyes meeting an unblinking stare. His anger seemed to settle as he saw Oakenshield come up behind his daemon, fading into something like fear and the words faltering.

“Uncle... just let him speak to the wizard.” The brown- haired dwarf said quickly, breaking the uneasy silence clumsily, his tone desperate.

"I' d rather be a 'bully',” Oakenshield sneered, completely ignoring his nephew, “than a Warg Rider, a person that Mahal deemed worthy of having a soul that formed the shape of _that_ beast. Whose kin have decimated whole clans of dwarrows with their foul masters, robbed us of rightful kingdoms and besmirched this earth with their evil.”

Bilbo had flinched back at almost every word, his features almost indiscernible in the darkness but the emotions running through the bond filled with bitterness. Whatever story hid behind Oakenshield's words hit too close to 'Bo's own, the wizard- for the first time- looking close to intervening.

“Thorin, Sola, leave it.” muttered the white- haired dwarf, reaching out toward the leader with what Damia assumed was a placating hand. 'Bo turned away quickly, rubbing at his heavy eyes and letting Damia shepherd him over to the wizard, her own heart thumping hard against her chest and the muddle of events whirling around her mind.

The wind howled as the three of them reached a point far enough away from the rest of the company, making Damia yelp and look again at where the mysterious voice had come from, Oakenshield's rage forgotten for the moment. Bilbo shook against her side as she lowered herself to the ground, the wizard setting himself opposite them with a grim, closed lipped smile.

“I never said winning a Durin's trust would be an easy thing.” 'Bo shrugged, his eyes closing against the cool breeze and his little body slumping to the side, resting on Damia.

“That. That is an understatement.”

“Thorin has more reason than most to dislike wargs and whoever rides them.” The story that followed of Moria and Azanulbizar made Damia feel ill right to her very core, bought back to snapshot images of Fell Winter on a massive scale. She could sense Bilbo become slowly guilty, the feeling crawling up his throat, even with the memory of Oakenshield's anger fresh in his mind.

“You must remember to acknowledge his loses and resulting flaws, if not forgive them.” The wizard finished, his staff laid carefully across his knees as he stared out at the moon, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. “But enough of that, what do you want to talk to me about?”

“Aside from the fact that orcs hunt this company? Orcs we were not told about?” snarled Damia, the fur along her back rising as she thought back to the scream she had heard. Bilbo shot her a look, glaring at the wizard all the same, but stopping her before she could say anything more.

“As much as I would like to know why you thought dragging _us_ of all people into conflict with orcs. We heard something, me and Dama. Other than the scream.” The words were stilted and hurried, making The Grey One lean slowly forward, the silence stretching between the group and making Bilbo squirm.

“What? What was it?”

“The howls of the wargs...” Bilbo said, trailing off and stopping to wring his hands.

“I- we- could understand them.” Gandalf hummed thoughtfully, seeming to view the pair with new eyes and biting down hard on his pipe, his entire countenance becoming cold and tense.

“Did they threaten you?” he said slowly, a peculiar urgency lacing his voice.

“No, they told Damia to run, they told us both to escape. Gandalf, what’s happening? Are we going crazy? Oh Yavanna we are aren't we? I knew it. _Knew_ it. Mad Baggins-”

“Silence Bilbo, neither you or Damia are insane.”

“Then why can we hear voices when noone else can?” Damia's hobbit squealed, standing jerkily to his feet and bringing his hands to his face, his shoulders shaking. Gandalf took a long draw from his pipe and waited for quiet, gazing out at the stars that poked through the blanket of clouds above them.

“Did you know that orcs were once elves?” The wizard said mildly, his soft voice just audible above Bilbo's heavy breaths.

“I hardly see how that has anything to do-” Damia tugged her hobbit's sleeve and pulled him carefully down, trying to calm the hectic, angry thoughts in 'Bo's mind.

“Patience, all will become clear. But first you must understand that, at first, orcs were just the creatures you were so fond of as a fauntling, twisted by dark magic and torture but as daemonless as their fair cousins.” Bilbo's usually sharp mind was clouded by tiredness and stress, but pieces began to click together in his head, a familiar curiosity surfacing for the first time in years.

“But their wargs?”

“Elves are very close to magic and their corruption did not stop that, it maybe even made the connection stronger for a short time. All wargs once roamed wild in the woodlands in the north, no daemons among them, and this made them easy to capture and susceptible to the sorcery that was about to trap them. The first orcs bound the wargs to their service, forced to be as faithful as daemons, living and dying at their master's side. This is why only the strongest among them have daemons.”

“How could we understand them though? Why would one try and warn us?” The Grey One frowned and shrugged, the staff resting between his knees scraping against the ground as he shifted.

“Maybe they still have a pack instinct, recognise you as kin. Maybe they want freedom more than it would at first appear, as you can imagine, no one has managed to get close enough to ask them their opinion.” The group didn't speak for what seemed like a long time, Damia and Bilbo lost in the new information and Gandalf twisting his pipe around in his thin hands.

“If they are half wild, does that mean they are born from the golden dust as their orc is bought into the world?” Damia muttered, a chill crawling down her spine as she spoke.

“No, wargs are mortal, their orcs are decidedly _not_. A warg will feel the pain and die with it's master but not the other way a round. If a warg dies it is simply replaced by another.”

“And where does the other come from?” Damia's hobbit said quietly, all too aware that he already knew the answer.

“A pup. Wargs are raised in a band of orcs to become a daemon when their kin dies.” Gandalf said, his tone steady but his face falling, his hands itching to reach for Bilbo. Damia felt her throat tighten, her eyesight blurring as the news set in and a creeping anger starting to burn in her chest.

For all she denied it, she was half a hobbit. And hobbits cared for three things above all else. Food, comfort and the welfare of-

“Children.” Bilbo choked out, his voice breaking. “Pups. They grow up as slaves. Slaves to _orcs._ Their soul is bonded to someone that they should have no connection too.” The hobbit's hand had twisted almost protectively into Damia's fur, and she knew he was imagining her in the other wargs' place.

“It would be sensible to assume that you alone can understand them because their speech is limited by their wildness.” Gandalf muttered, getting to his feet and touching Bilbo's shoulder gently, turning him from where he had been staring down at the stretch of land below the cliff. The wizard strung together a collection of banal reassurances and apologies that seemed to make Damia's hobbit appear relaxed, even as something latched onto the dark part of his mind.

The Grey One ushered them back to the crumpled little sleeping mat, his great cloak hiding them from the curious (or angry) eyes of the dwarrows. The little hobbit pulled Damia's face level with his own, his little hands tugging at her ears, and whispered a hurried sentence, aware of the suspicious glare of Oakenshield.

“We'll do all we can to help them 'Mia, just you see if we don't. I couldn't care less for this Erebor codswallop, but we have a chance- small as it is- to help. We'll get our revenge for 'Pa and let them be free again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the filler-ish chapter, I had to clear some stuff up, more will be revealed later though :)
> 
> Thank you all again for the comments, kudos, bookmarks and subscriptions, they all help so so much.
> 
> Next chapter will be Fili, Kili and Trolls. xx


	8. VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _'Dwarrows didn't seem to care either way for their relationship, not with Dís, Thorin and Dwalin's reputation ever-present. The rather figurative crowns upon their heads also saved them from any dwarrows not so accepting. Some even admired it, two dwarrows who had found their One in these dark times.'_

“What if the warg turns up?”

“The warg has better things to do.”

“But it knows too much Fee, you saw it scowling at us earlier.”

“It scowls at everyone, it's worse than Thorin. And we don't even know if they'd have a problem.”

“Well excuse me for not being wanted to be mauled b-” Fíli cut Kíli off with a running jump, tackling him to the ground with his arms wrapped around his brother's knees. Kíli squawked and curled in over his shoulder, clawing into his shirt as they fell in a heap, yanking at Fíli's braids in retaliation. Prying his fingers off took longer than expected, Kíli still managing to pout and kick, but Fíli managed to take him down.

Amo joined Fíli on sitting of his brother's chest, smug while Fíli wheezed and swore. She was quickly followed by Regis, falling over herself to drape herself over Fili's lap and shove her face into Kíli's mess of hair. Fíli gathered Amo up into his arms just as Kíli managed to overbalance them, falling backwards into the short grass as the younger brother crowed in victory. Fíli still managed to push the two daemons away from Kíli's grabbing hands, squirming around to escape

“They're mine, both of them!” Fíli said, finishing with a squeal when Kíli yanked Regis' tail. She had been his original daemon, been the one to start following around their Mama when she was pregnant. The last couple of days, conscious of the hobbit's presence and Thorin's warnings, he hadn't been close enough to her, feeling stretched and unhappy. Him and Kee had agreed to swap daemon's until they knew more about hobbits, but to be able to hug his little brother and both of their cats was a relief.

“Shut your mouth, they like me best.” Kíli spat, crushing all three of them in arms strengthened by archery. He flopped down beside them before Fíli's ribs could break, one hand tangling in Fíli's own and the other in Regis' fur.

“You're both insufferable.” The lion said, having resigned herself to the group hug and grooming from the other daemon. “I only like Amo.”

Kíli managed an outraged squawk before it was smother by a paw, Amo curling up into a tight ball where Fíli and Kíli's shoulders touched.

“Ahem.” Fili promptly kneed his brother in the stomach, sending both daemons flying as he tried to sit up. “Sorry to interrupt, but you seem to be missing some ponies.”

Stood at the edge of the clearing, a massive warg looking over his shoulder and two bowls of soup drooping in his hands, was the burglar, looking nonplussed, if perhaps a little uncomfortable. Fíli scrambled to his feet, Regis coming to curl protectively around his legs and stare warningly up at the bigger daemon.

“I _told_ you Fee.”Kíli said with a awkward grin, brushing the soft earth off of his rumpled clothes and tugging at his tangled hair. Fíli shot a look at his brother and bowed his head to the hobbit, the years of court-lessons finally surfacing.

“I apologise Mr Baggins, Warg.” Regis said softly from behind Fíli, waiting anxiously for the disgust to bleed through the hobbit's embarrassment.

Dwarrows didn't seem to care either way for their relationship, not with Dís, Thorin and Dwalin's reputation ever-present. The rather figurative crowns upon their heads even saved them from any dwarrows not so accepting. Some even admired it, two dwarrows who had found their One in these dark times. It was the humans that were unnerved, traditions twisted into strange fears and misconceptions. Only human lovers ever shared daemons, not those with platonic bonds so common among dwarrows.

This prissy little hobbit with his waistcoats and gloves and terrifying warg daemon, who knew what went round in his head? Even Kíli, who always held by the fact that he didn't _care_ what people thought (unlike his cowardly brother) was freezing up as Fíli spoke, his fear of the warg twisting through Regis and into his brother's mind.

“Her name is Damia.” The hobbit said mildly, his voice giving away nothing but his shoulders tensing as he spoke. “And it's quite all right. I'll make myself known sooner next time.”

The warg started laughing quietly then, Kíli startling as her surprisingly high voice filled the otherwise silent clearing.

“Your faces were brilliant.” she giggled, throwing her head in the direction of the confused Amo who had come to stand the other side of Fíli. “I never knew Bilbo could be so terrifying.”

“Don't me mean 'Mia.” The hobbit said chidingly, crouching to place the bowls carefully on the floor as he stared off into the trees. “Can you still smell the ponies?”

“Huh?” Kíli said intelligently, staring gormlessly out towards the group of grazing ponies.

“Three are missing.” said the warg slowly, amusement dying from her voice as she lifted her nose to the cool night air. Fíli hurriedly counted the animals, Regis muttering nervously under her breath and pacing out to look through the forest with her sharp eyes.

“You're right.” Fili said, darting a glance to his brother, all of the carefree attitude of earlier completely gone. “We've got to find them.”

“Definitely.” Kili muttered, his hand falling on Amo's shoulders as the group followed Regis and a fallen tree came into view. “Thorin'll kill us other-”

A horse screamed behind them and a massive limb moved through the trees, branches bending and snapping in the wake of the massive creature who held two more animals under each pale arm.

“Mahal blessed, it's a bloody troll.”

“It's going to eat the ponies!”

Fili flinched under the combined gaze of his brother and their daemons' worried gaze, looking to the panicked hobbit for help. “The burglar, you're a burglar. _You_ can get them back.”

“That isn't a good idea, wait! Where are you going?” Fili had grabbed a handful of his brothers shirt and yanked him backwards, his hand finding the hilt of one of his swords as the hobbit spoke.

“It'll be fine, if you get into trouble, hoot twice like a barn owl then once like a brown owl.”

The warg growled.

“Or that, that works too.”The hobbit looked out towards the little fire in the distance and the massive forms silhouetted against it and shook his head violently.

“No, Nope.”

“We'll go get back up just in case. You'll do _fine_. ”

*

The troll incident came and went.

So maybe it wasn't one of his brightest moments, but it wasn't like Fíli's didn't at least _try_.

Kíli was resting his head on his knee, idly braiding the rope that had bound his hands not long ago and humming slightly. Fíli's watched his brother's sleeves ride up to show the burns around his wrists, jerking his gaze away to stare off at his Uncle's daemon when Kíli glanced up.

Sola was systemically cleaning the blood from the pale fur on her face, her eyes never leaving the mound of golden fur that was pressed against the rock face that bordered the entrance to the troll cave. The warg- no, _Damia_ \- had fought along side her, an uneasy kind of truce forming between the pair before the hobbit got himself caught.

“Uncle and Sola don't trust them.” Kíli said softly, his hand stretching up to grab at Fíli's.

“Sola doesn't trust anyone.”

“But they don't seem to mind us being Ones.”

“Definitely says something about their character.” Fili nodded, watching with a bemused smile as Baggins stumbled out of the cave holding a dagger at arms- length, completely ignoring the hovering wizard to call over his daemon.

“I'm terribly sorry Gandalf, but I really don't think this will be much use to me.” said the hobbit quietly, Fíli delivering a shove to Kíli's shoulder when his brother leaned in to hear more.

“Why ever not?” The wizard said, loud enough to draw a few preoccupied looks from the rest of the company. Amo was steadily creeping up on the conversation, her big eyes blinking up at the pair in a motion Fíli knew she had copied off of Kíli.

“Yeah, why not? You need the defence.” she said sunnily, flinching back as Damia snapped her teeth to cut the smaller daemon off.

“My hands.” The hobbit's mouth twisted up into a grim kind of smile as he splayed his gloved fingers over the hilt of the blade. “Even with training I won't be able to move them quick enough.”

Bifur grunted something rude at the wizard, his badger daemon Levis coming to stand protectively by Baggins' feet as the wizard rolled his eyes.

“With the right training, you won't have too.” Fíli glanced over to where Dwalin was ignoring Thorin in order to listen in on the conversation, his eyebrows pushed down into a frown.

“I'm the first to admit I don't know a lot about fighting but-”

“Learn to fight with Damia.” Aes said softly, her tail waging slightly in a way Fíli knew Dwalin had tried stopping her from doing. The wizard nodded happily, turning to face the unimpressed stare of a hobbit and his interested daemon.

“You've already proven that you can ride her, but she is clearly more than a horse.” Gandalf continued with a flick of his staff in the direction of Damia.

“You work together in battle and you can become each other’s weapons.” Dwalin muttered, letting a hand rest on the side of his own daemon who stared studiously at the little hobbit. Fíli blinked at the older dwarf, looking at the tense set of his shoulders and the way he compulsively stroked the cow-licks of fur running the length of Aes' back, one hand never leaving his axe. “I'll help train him.”

Kíli snorted loudly in surprise and Regis bit at his fingers to silence him, aware that Dwalin's words sounded more like a threat than an offer.

“Oh, well, you see...” Baggins mumbled, Fíli flinching slightly a the timid voice and the sight of the slight hobbit staring dazedly up at Dwalin and Aes.

“We'll do it.” Fíli gripped tight to Kíli's wrist as the warg spoke, his impulsive and oh- so- protective little brother ready to charge in to save the hobbit from his daemon's agreement. Baggins seemed as shocked as the rest of the company were at this sudden and possibly ill-advised decision, staring wordlessly up at the massive creature next to him.

“We will?” he squeaked, the dagger dropping dangerously in his grip.

“We need as much help as we can get. We would be honoured Madam Aes, Master Dwalin” The admission sounded strained and, if Fíli didn’t know better, embarrassed, hidden only partially by the shallow bow.

The hobbit frowned and nodded jerkily, his eyes not leaving the ground beneath his feet and his hands fidgeting around the blade.

“Yes. I suppose Damia is right. I would be honoured.” The parroted words rang false even for Kíli, who wrapped his fingers around Fíli's and squeezed, meeting his brother's eyes anxiously. Baggins mimicked the bow after a pointed look from the- _Damia_ and shuffled away, Bifur hovering protectively over one shoulder.

“Why?” Fíli blurted, conscious that Thorin's telling-off hadn't come yet and he really shouldn't be drawing attention to himself.

“Why teach the halfling?” Dwalin grunted, watching his calloused fingers run over his knuckle dusters, . “He can't slow us down by being caught again.”

“And?” Amo snapped, always quick to catch words left unsaid (and already half in love with the idea of having a warg for a friend).

“He means to keep an eye on the halfling and his beast.” Uncle growled, Sola not taking her eyes away from the mass of golden fur disappearing into the group of dwarrows, her face still slightly darkened by troll blood.

He could hear the click of Kíli's nervous swallow as Dwalin didn't disagree, Aes just whining quietly and pushing the side of her head into large dwarf's side.

It wasn't if Baggins was in danger, neither Dwalin or Thorin would ever hurt him _too_ badly. The brothers were just not so certain about Damia, not so certain that Sola would have the same restraint.

“Quick! Someone is coming!” The deep voice of the wizard shattered the moment, making Fíli pull back from where his brother was holding tight to his hand behind there backs, reaching for his sword in one smooth, practised motion. “Arm yourselves!”

As Fíli dragged Kíli to his feet by the sleeve he caught a glimpse of the hobbit holding the dagger carefully in what he presumed was the less damaged hand and looking tiny next to his massive daemon.

Fíli was suddenly struck with the overwhelming feeling that he wanted Bilbo to go home just as much as the hobbit himself did.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and Fili and Kili's relationship has been changed to put emphasis on the importance and existence of platonic Ones. Just a heads up :)


	9. VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Orcs find The Company (and regret it).

Sola first realised something was wrong when The Warg froze up, a jolt rolling down her body as her hobbit started to shake violently next to her, going completely silent. Now she was running through the last line of trees and onto the moorland, howls seeming to vibrate through her very bones and warg blood sour and rotten-tasting on her tongue.

Regis ran at her side, yellow flanks heaving with breaths as they went for cover, the dwarrows not far behind the larger daemons and the scatter of the wild rabbit's feet just audible above the barking.

They would _not_ get to her pack. The orcish filth would not take away those beloved by her dwarf again, not this time. Not her kits. Her naïve, reckless, trusting nephews who demanded to put themselves in danger, who demanded to be kind to the warg who poisoned the Company.

Playful Amo with her sharp teeth and tongue. The occasional ( _very_ occasional) wisdom in the eyes of Regis. They would not be the next to be pinned by orcish arrows or under a great warg paw, not like Frenin.

So they had to flee and fight another day, continue on towards Erebor and turn their backs on these scum.

Sola saw a blur of colour as she was pushed sideways by the massive paws of Aes, the dog turning worried eyes to meet her own and pressing her ears down in worry. Sola scolded herself for losing her attention, having almost run into the pack of wargs and their orcs that sprinted after the little wizard.

She regained her balance in time to see her Thorin wave his sword in the direction of the next mound of rock, his accursed elven blade flashing in the midday sun. She turned from him to the others, pressed, grim faced to the rock, even little Aris' dwarf Ori swinging his catapult around.

No. Sola could not let these people be lost.

Thorin called for Kíli to shoot the warg and its orc standing above them on the rocks, the boy's hands shaking and his face grim, his grip too tight on his bow. He missed the throat, Sola's boy who hadn't ruined a shot in years, and the beast tumbled into the group of dwarrows, batting at Dwalin and Bifur as it squirmed.

Sola, again, saw their warg freeze up and then launch itself at the other foul creature, suddenly heartbreakingly small compared to its kin and deadly quiet. Blood splattered the grey stone and Sola turned to see the hobbit clamp a hand around his mouth, something like a sob being smothered.

The orc's throat was slit quickly, but not before it could raise an alarm, and Sola's pack had to run, Kíli still babbling apologies and The Warg seeming shell-shocked and wild-eyed. The terrain became more wooded suddenly, the long grass cracking beneath their feet and the howls of a hunting warg pack echoing against the rocks.

Cornered, Sola retreated back to the feet of her dwarf, pulling Amo back by the scruff of her neck and turning to see the black specks of more wargs moving in from behind them.

“Kili, shoot them!”

Sola's pack huddled together, brandishing weapons.

“We're surrounded.”

“Where's Gandalf?”

The Warg's halfling tugged the beast's head down forcefully and whispered something in its ear. The creature shook its head and began to move, her feet flying over the soft ground before Sola could even consider stopping her.

“He's abandoned us!” The thump of one of Kili's arrows in the breast of an orc punctuated the end of the shout, a snarl coming for behind Sola as their warg sped up into a full scale sprint. Even the oldest and most battle-hardened of the company flinched at what happened next, the halfling screaming as his warg flew at the leader of the orcs, teeth sliding into the neck of an unsuspecting daemon and a cry rising from the enemy's ranks.

“Traitor! _Inras marr dyr-snaga!_ ”

Sola should have felt relieved that all the hostile attention turned to The Warg and her little rider, away from her nephews and her own Thorin, but as Ori is batted away from a stray arrow shot by an over-zealous orc, all she can feel is disgust at herself.

“This way you fools!” For a short moment she saw through Thorin's eyes, the stretched image of the wizard from over the corpse of a mottled grey warg pointing desperately at the rock he stood upon. Bought back to herself, Sola turned to see the Company's warg in the midst of a fight, various dwarrows trying to come to her aid but blocked by the wall of hissing orcs.

“Bilbo!” Sola could just see enough to know that The Warg was trying to break free of the group, her fur stained black and golden with the blood and dust of her enemies. “Get Bilbo to safety!”

The scream made Sola turn back to where her company clustered around the hole, Thorin having to physically push Fíli down into the shelter to stop him from running into battle, the badger's dwarf shouting out obscenities in khudzul. The halfling was swinging his sword desperately at the few cowards that approached him, face covered in orc blood and something haunted playing in his eyes that she recognises from her own dwarf.

_Never touch another's dwarf unless they are an enemy in combat or your One._

Balin was going to kill her for what she planned to do next. If Thorin didn't get to her first. Sola went charging in, grabbing the halfling like she would one of her kits and-

 

_**winter orcs wargs slaves screaming papa damia damia damia hurt cold snow blood gandalf fight revenge sorry fight damia please** _

 

-throwing him free of the group, flinching at the onslaught of emotions and impressions.

Sola watched as Thorin herded the little hobbit down into the cave, his face thunderous and his hands too tight on the thin shoulders, having seen the moment of contact. She forcefully dragged her eyes away from her dwarf and bought her jaw down hard around the neck of one of the smaller wargs, scrambling for cover as more orcs moved in on the Company.

The Warg followed Sola's lead, her voice cracking over the 'thank yous' that spilled from her mouth and her eyes fixed solely on the place where her hobbit has disappeared.

The moment Sola looked down the steep entrance of the cave to where Regis was trying to climb up to meet her, the slick sound of an arrow into flesh echoed around the suddenly silent cavern, a small gasp from the hobbit the only noise.

In a blur of golden fur, The Warg slid down past Sola, the sound of horses just audible from over the lip of the cave. Regis stopped her attempts at escape, rounding on the prone and whimpering form of the other daemon and crying out, all eyes finding the arrow that stuck at a gruesome angle from The Warg's side.

Sola's dwarf took a step forward, pushing past the shocked wizard to look at the weapon, the flights bent out of place but still recognisable.

“ _Elves_.” It was spat out like a curse, low growls echoing the cries of protest from the dwarrows. The wizard moved forward to look at The Warg, his hands hovering just above the fur, golden dust billowing from the wound and curling round his fingers like smoke.

“Bilbo?” The hatted-dwarf said breathlessly, his mattock hanging uselessly at his side and his eyes fixed on the hobbit.

Sola knew how much it hurt to see your bonded in pain, feel the wound mirrored in your own flesh and not be able to do anything. She knew in theory it would be the same for the halfling, regardless of the type of daemon that stood at his side, but it still shocked her to see physical proof of the connection. It was harder to see The Warg as a monster as it's little, curly haired creature clutched at his stomach and fell to her side, nails drawing blood from his own soft palms.

“Bilbo, Damia, stay with us. You need to stay conscious for just a little while longer.” The Warg lifted her massive head to face the wizard, flinching as her muscles pulled around the arrow in her side.

“We need to get help.” All eyes turned to look at Óin's daemon Ceoe, whose long tail and quick fingers riffled through the pack of medical supplies on her dwarf's back, her human-like face serious and grimacing. “We have nothing more than bandages since the ponies have buggered off.”

“My magic can do nothing for someone's soul, the arrow needs to be removed and the both of them need rest and good food.” The wizard said gravely as attention turned to him. “Which is exactly what you'll find if we continue down further through this tunnel.”

“And where is that?” Thorin growled, teeth bared and his hands clenched at his side.

“Imladris.” Amo nuzzled her face into the crook of Sola's neck as the wizard spoke, her shoulders sloping in defeat even as a spark of anger shot from Thorin. Sola pressed a cheek to her kit's forehead, feeling strangely detached from her dwarf's emotions, filled instead with an alien sense of guilt.

“You would have us seek refuge with our enemies?” Thorin snarled, throwing a distracted look towards the slumped form of the hobbit, who had his face buried in his daemon's shoulder. “To those who have attacked us.”

“Attacked Damia.” Fili said suddenly, half hidden behind his brother and refusing to meet his uncle's angry gaze, who just raised a dismissive hand.

“The point still stands.”

“Coming from someone who also attacked Damia during your first meeting, I don't believe it does.” Gandalf snapped, Sola's dwarf pulling a face that reminded her vividly of a petulant, three-year-old Kíli. “If you want Mr Baggins to live then this is our best chance.”

Thorin looked torn. Levis and her dwarf Bifur did not.

Stalking in front of Thorin with a face of stone, the dwarf swooped in and gathered the hobbit up in his arms with a surprising amount of care, pulling the hobbit close to his chest with a derisive snort.

“ _Mahal's balls... you're fucking idiots, I for one am not going to see the little halfing die so soon, not to a tree-shagger. Now swallow your pride and misplaced anger and help the warg up, the poor lass had done nothing to you._ ”

This was probably the longest Sola had ever heard the injured dwarf speak, though she supposed she couldn't judge due to her own silence. Amo and Regis moved as one towards the fallen warg, helping the badger nudge her upright, her breathing laboured as Bifur marched- without looking back- through towards the tunnel.

 

*

The numb feeling Sola had felt earlier began to fade as they got closer to the main gate of Rivendell, the tense atmosphere that swamped her Company oppressive, and not helping to soften Thorin's foul mood. He hadn't murdered Bifur but the anger hadn't gone, perhaps even building under the elegant arches and marble pathways.

Sola butted affectionately at her dwarf's leg, ignoring the curious looks from the other daemons and instead focusing on pushing away the flood of thoughts that dragged on Thorin like iron weights. His mind flinched away from her's, still strangely jealous about the shared moment between her and the hobbit and reeling from the rapid sequence of events since the trolls.

“ _Mithrandir_.” A dark-haired elf stood in the centre of the courtyard, a pronounced blink being the only sign of shock at the group of dwarrows. He- at least Sola assumed they were a he- didn't show actual emotion beyond the benign smile until The Warg was revealed to him, a thrill of smug amusement filling Sola as the elf stuttered.

“Lindir, how nice to see you.” The greeting was painfully forced, a mix of incredulity and fear playing across the elf's face as the wizard came to stand companionably by The Warg and smile up at him. “As you can see we require some assistance, is your Lord Elrond here?”

“No, he is- he is out hunting. With all due respect _Mithrandir_ , the warg... is it safe? I only-”

The fumbling words were cut off by the unmistakeable sound of a horn, Sola's sharp ears picking up the clatter of hooves on stone and the sour smell of orc flesh heavy on her tongue. The whole Company acted fast even with only a harsh, quick instruction from Thorin, and formed a tight circle around The Warg, tucking the whimpering hobbit underneath one of her great paws and out of sight.

“Hold your ground!” Thorin roared as row upon row of elves descended upon them, their wild horses' eyes rolling at the smell of so many potential predators, both dwarf and daemon alike. Sola glanced from them to their riders, her lip curling back into a snarl at the sight of numerous bows being pulled taught, all directed at The Warg. The elves' normally blank faces were almost all twisted up into various degrees of disgust, only one face among them remaining impassive.

“Lord Elrond.” The wizard said with a small duck of his head and a worried look toward the slip of waistcoat just visible from underneath The Warg's protective, if clumsy, approximation of a hug.

“ _Mithrandir_. Why have you bought such a beast into the confines of my home?” The elf's voice was level and to the point, the slightest edge of anger lacing his words as he slid off his mount.

“Ah, well, the 'beast' is in fact a daemon.” The wizard nudged The Warg slightly so that her paw slid off the huddled form of the halfling. “And she needs your help.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daemons:
> 
> Ori- [Aris](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m75zqcrbS51qzya49o1_500.jpg)
> 
> Óin- [Ceoe](http://2.s3.envato.com/files/43449857/ivz_1_532.jpg)
> 
> Thank you, as always, for all the brilliant feedback I've received xx


	10. VIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I don't know about that, the fella has iron in his spine, just needs to be forged into something useful.” Corvus said grimly with a flutter of his wings, a shadow passing over Bilbo's closed eyelids as the daemon flew over them._

_Click._

_Click._

_Click._

Bilbo opened his eyes slowly, his eyes focusing on the dust motes floating through the shaft of too-bright light that fell on his face. He groaned and blinked a couple of times, the large room blurring as he let his head fall to one side as the sound stopped abruptly.

“Master Baggins?” Bilbo was pushed to the very edge of the massive bed, curled up with his head pressed against wood and his back moving with the heavy breaths of his daemon. The voice had come from the corner, the speaker hidden from Bilbo by the rise of his knees, but still recognisable.

“Ori?” His voice was reedy and thick with sleep, Damia huffing in a very dog-like way and folding in on herself to avoid the noise and sunlight. The young dwarf gave a little noise of excitement and suddenly appeared in Bilbo's line of sight, needles clutched tightly in his hands and a long almost-finished scarf trailing along behind him.

“We're so glad you're awake.” Someone said softly, the little fox daemon revealing herself from the folds of Ori's sweater and cocking her head to one side. Bilbo frowned and looked past the pair at the intricately carved stone walls that met at a dome above where he lay, the white linen that hung from the bedposts floating in the breeze.

“I... Where are we?” Bilbo went to sit up, trying to control his collapse when the muscles of his stomach ached with a seemingly phantom pain.

“Rivendell. The elves who shot your daemon, they're helping now.” Ori's voice seemed sceptical, stopping to lie his hands on Bilbo's side and gently push him back down. The memories sluggishly surfaced in Bilbo's mind leading him to lift his arm and feel for Damia's head, her cheek pressing reassuringly into his palm.

“Everyone is okay?”

“Yes, well, the food isn't very nice, but Dori says that its better to pity people than scorn them when it comes to bad taste.” Slightly bewildered by the young dwarf, Bilbo laughed quietly into his pillow, pulling at a curl that stuck uncomfortably to his cheek.

“I'm glad that's their biggest problem.”

“Your well-being is our biggest problem.” Ori said matter-of-factly, gathering up his knitting onto his lap, the fox's paws appearing from under the wool to help. “I'm on hobbit watch.”

“Hobbit watch?”

“Well we had to keep you safe from all these elves.” Ori shot him a conspiratorial look. “They're being too nice if you ask me, _suspiciously_ nice.”

“You all have my thanks then.” Bilbo said after a bewildered pause, feeling his eyes droop closed, the warmth of the mountain of blankets on top of him seeming to soak into his very bones.

“Master Baggins?” Ori said awkwardly after a beat of silence.

“Mhmm...?”

“It's us- me and Aris- that should be thanking you really.” Bilbo managed to pull his eyes open in time to see the dwarf dig fingers under his daemon's chin, making the large-eared creature chirp happily. “Your daemon, she saved us, pushed us out of the way of an arrow. It's stupid, and you probably don't even remember but... thank you.”

Bilbo thought he might have smiled as the world faded black at the edges, his mind sinking into sleep as something soft and slightly scratchy is pushed underneath his arm.

*

The next time he was awoken he was slightly more lucid, the soft darkness that had fallen on the room soothing and less harsh than the sudden sunlight of before. It was only when he shifted closer to Damia that he realised what had woken him, a hand winding itself tighter into the front of his nightshirt. A head of dark brown hair nuzzled into his shoulder, Kíli letting out a grumpy moan as the hobbit shifted, Regis' eyes flaring as they caught the light.

“Hobbit watch again?” Bilbo whispered, a smile coming unbidden as the young dwarf tried unsuccessfully to become more alert.

“Yeah.” Kíli mumbled sleepily, pausing to give a cat like yawn, his jaw clicking loudly. “Listen, before you drop off again, Fee's mortified about you catching us...”

“I won't tell anyone if that's what you're worried about.” Bilbo muttered, frowning and just a little bit insulted. “It's your own business.”

“Oh no, its not that, everyone knows. Just wanted you to know tha' we didn't do it to embarrass you or anything.”

“Your relationship is... expectable? With other dwarrows I mean.” Kíli paused and grinned fondly, shifting slightly in the chair that he was slumped on next to the bed.

“Well yeah, he's my best friend. He's my One.”

“One?” Bilbo mumbled, his sleep-addled brain sluggish.

“Mahal split every soul into quarters and gave two part human forms and two parts animals.” Regis said dutifully.

“Like a divine jigsaw puzzle.” Kíli added happily. “'Means we fit together as one.”

Bilbo considered asking if that was an innuendo but was cut short by the calmness in the eyes a dwarf that was normally anything but.

“I'm glad you’ve found yours.” He said instead, blaming the sudden burst of affection on tiredness and how young Kíli looked in the low light. Something shifted in the dwarf's eyes at the words, his hand finding Bilbo's on the section of pillow that sat between them and giving it a soft squeeze.

“Thanks Bilbo. Me and Fee will look after you and Damia 'til you find your One.” Kíli's words felt like something more than an idle reassurance, a kind of weight to them that made Bilbo feel stupid for thinking even for a moment that all there was to Kíli was light-hearted mischief. Tugging at the hand that lay awkwardly level to his head, Bilbo shifted painfully closer to Damia, leaving a conveniently dwarf-shaped space of mattress.

“That chair looks massively uncomfortable.” Bilbo said disapprovingly, Damia mumbling an agreement into the covers. Kíli didn't have to be told twice, gathering Bilbo up into a hug, gangly limbs clinging onto him with a puppyish enthusiasm, before he relaxed and let his head thump down onto the pillow. It was an awkward kind of companionship, but comfortable enough so that, with the small slither of space between them, Bilbo found himself dropping off again.

“I like the scarf by the way.” Kíli said softly up to the celling. “Ori only knits stuff for people he likes.” 

*

“Poor little lamb.”

Bilbo felt someone pull the blanket further up, under his chin, a cool palm pushing the curls of hair away from his forehead.

“The warg is hardly little.” A different voice snorted, a snap accompanying his words that Bilbo recognised as the sound of a beak.

“Oh don't be so _scathing_ Nori, this beast saved our Ori. And to think, I thought she was a brute, yet see how sweet she looks all curled up around her hobbit. I don't think I've seen a closer bond in all my years, you'd have thought he was the one that was shot for all the-”

“Quiet now Dori, you're waking him.”

“That potion the elf gave him should keep him under 'til morning, Mahal knows they need it.” Bilbo looked from underneath his lashes at the white doe that had spoke, her lilting voice gentle and worried. Silence fell on the room, the soft snick of whetstone against one of Nori's knives steadying Bilbo's breaths, making his eyes feel heavy again.

“You know he's already got Bifur looking after him.”

“He needs all the help he can get.” Dori said primly. “No good comes from letting innocent people be bullied.”

“I suppose you mean by our esteemed leader?” Nori said, a clear smile in his words. Dori clucked his tongue, continuing to tuck the blanket tightly under the mattress either side of Bilbo and Damia.

“He's a good man. And he'll soften to the lad... he hasn't really got a choice if I'm quite honest.” Nori hummed a question, the sound of him sharpening his blades stopping. “The Durin boys love him and the Company owe them our lives. You can say what you want about us dwarrows but we-”

“Don't ignore debts, I know.” Nori finished, the phrase obviously well-practised and familiar. Dori made a pleased little sound and moved off away from the bed, the clatter of hooves on the tiled floor meaning his daemon followed. “I remember when Corvus had to kill another raven daemon, messed us both up. And I'd bet money it was her first kill.”

Bilbo threaded his fingers gently the fur on his daemon chest, careful not to disturb the sheets and holding on tight.

“Hmm...” Dori said idly, worryingly unconcerned by his brother admitting to past murder. “Like I said, never seen a bond between two such different creatures as this one. What a strange couple they make.”

“I don't know about that, the fella has iron in his spine, just needs to be forged into something useful.” Corvus said grimly with a flutter of his wings, a shadow passing over Bilbo's closed eyelids as the daemon flew over them.

“Forged in fire indeed.” Dori said with a sigh, tweaking Bilbo's cheek one last time before his presence disappeared from the bedside. “Come on, our shift should be over by now, besides, it's lunch.”

Bilbo heard the door slam after a brief conversation between the brothers, allowing himself to open his eyes to the room and to Damia, her own eyes wide and pleading. He put a hand to her head, just under her ear, and pressed his forehead to hers, not realising how dwarvern the gesture was until his skin met fur.

“I'm sorry you had to do what you did.” he whispered, a sad whine pulling at Damia's throat as she rolled closer. “I told you you didn't have too.”

“I did though.” Damia muttered, her ears flat on her head and her entire body limp. “It was worse this time, with their voices and everything.”

Bilbo swallowed hard, tucking himself underneath his warg's head and tried pushing away the memories of the brief fight and the words spoken above the din of the orc's.

“It would have almost been better if they hated us.”

**thank you shendrautsham-mabrotnosh **

“What does that even mean? And how terrible must their lives be if their death is a blessing?” 'Mia's voice was pleading and confused, sounding for all the world like a lost faunt. Bilbo opened his mouth to say something well-meaning but fundamentally empty of any concrete promise when something tugged in his stomach, a fresh haze of tiredness sweeping over his mind. And, for the third time in Yavanna knows how many days and as suddenly as he had woken, sleep claimed him.

*

Damia was growling loudly next to his ear, her body stretched out and tense as if she was about to pounce, Bilbo clumsily slapped his hand down on her muzzle, shifting around to look at the cause of the problem.

“Good morning Mr Baggins.” The figure above the bed said softly, his long hair pulled to the base of his neck and catching on pointed ears. Bilbo's breath caught in his throat, the cloth beneath him bunching as he struggled to push himself up. “Calm yourself.”

“Back off.” Damia snapped, barely managing to lift her head higher than her shoulders but her eyes flashing with protective anger.

“I am Lord Elrond, master of _Imladris_ , I only seek to help you.” The elf addressed Damia directly, his hand gentle on Bilbo's shoulder and his face unlined by any discernible emotion.

“You shot us.” Bilbo said slowly, berating himself for feeling guilty about his lack of manners and looking at the slowly shrinking puncture wound in his daemon's side.

“One of my hunters mistook Damia for one of the orc's wargs that surrounded you, he acted accordingly.” Elrond's face creased up in displeasure, his strange, wide eyes imploring. “I apologise on his behalf, we should not have acted so rashly.”

“That's okay.” Bilbo blurted, ignoring the indignant snarl from Damia in favour of lying back down, the soft bed calling to his sore muscles. “It must have been hard to tell the difference. Just for future reference though, no maiming gold wargs.”

“You have my vow.” Elrond said, taking the flippant words with something like an oath and a small bow of his head. Damia shifted awkwardly, squirming closer so she half covered Bilbo with a massive paw, both of them watching as the elf set a little vial on the table next to the bed. The man turned to face them, watching with a quiet speculation that made Bilbo feel uncomfortable.

“What?” Damia said, her voice faltering away for the demand she wanted it to be.

“You look a lot like your mother.” Bilbo blinked suddenly, fumbling his words as the elf stood above them his hands clasped in front of him and his eyes sad.

“My mother? You knew her?” Elrond didn't show any sign of sunrise at the sudden change in mood from dislike to to hesitant excitement, uncapping the vial in one smooth motion.

“For a time. Her little owl- Royce I think- got attacked by a wild fox not far from here. She stayed with us until he was healed.” The elf smiled slightly, bitter-sweet and nostalgic. “I believe she had a wedding to attend.”

Bilbo's stomach rolled violently at this little bit of history, dull memories of his father and his mother before she started to fade parading around his mind as a heavy silence fell on the conversation.

“Thank you. For helping her and us.” Damia said bluntly, breaking it abruptly, her tone not betraying any of the emotion Bilbo knew she felt. The underlying anger flowing through their bond was unmistakeably sharp however, making Bilbo's toes curl. Elrond frowned, more resigned than angry, tipping the contents of the bottle onto a spoon and moving in to offer it to Bilbo, approaching the pair like he was trying not to spook them.

“It was the least we could do. Now have this, it should help you sleep until tomorrow morning, by which point you should be better. ” Bilbo opened his mouth tentatively, the cold medicine welcome against his dry lips. “One of your friends should be here soon.”

Bilbo nodded weakly, the elf pausing as if he wanted to do more, before bowing his head and sweeping out of the room, Damia's eyes following him to the door. Bilbo's vision blurred suddenly, the last thing he saw clearly being the side of his daemon's head, her face dark and brooding.

“He didn't help Pa when it counted. If he really wanted to save Ma he would've.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dori- [Cereus](http://static.bangordailynews.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/10/baby-albino-600x450.jpg)
> 
> Nori- [Corvus](http://ibc.lynxeds.com/files/pictures/Raven.australian.lge.jpg)
> 
> Thanks again for the lovely support, sorry for the filler-ish chapter, things should pick up soon (and I swear it will get less angsty -_-) xx


	11. IX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Call me Sola.”_

The tiles felt cool on Bilbo's toes as he swung them over the bed, weaving his hands into Damia's fur to push himself up, his knees weak and his head spinning. The memories of the last day were indistinct and blurred, snapshot moments of various people visiting him as he dipped in an out of consciousness.

“You okay?” Damia muttered, her voice breaking slightly as she stretched, her paws hitting the floor with a soft thump as her spine arched. Bilbo turned to his daemon, taking in the tuft of cropped black fur on her side and shot her a wry smile, reaching up to tweak the side of her ear.

“Bit weird. This is surreal.” Damia hummed an agreement, stalking over to the open balcony doors and letting out a small noise. Bilbo turned from where he was running a hand over the folded shirt that lay at the foot of the bed, staring out across the valley and the sunrise just appearing through a gap in the cliff face.

“It's beautiful.” Damia had lifted her face to the breeze, ignoring her hobbit as he smoothed down the massive- and obviously borrowed- nightshirt. “Shame about the people.”

“Oh shush, you're starting to sound like one of those damned dwarrows.” Bilbo said chidingly, struggling out of the over-sized shirt and only seeing the vague shadow of his daemon through the cloth as she approached. “Mother liked them well enough.”

“Mama didn't get shot just for turning up.” Damia said without heat, smiling idly as Bilbo peaked up at her from under the edge of the fabric. Reaching for the trousers he recognised as his own, Bilbo touched what remained of his daemon's injury with the other hand.

“So what do we do now?” he said softly, the heaviness of the words diminished by the fact he got his foot caught in one leg hole half way through, having to lean heavily on Damia's side as he finished.

“We'll never find out more about the other wargs if we don't continue. Who else would help us, unwittingly or not?” Bilbo nodded slightly, his eyes drifting to the scarf that lay half tucked under his rumpled pillow.

“They like us. Most of them.”

“Only took us almost being killed.” Damia snorted, butting Bilbo's ribs with her forehead as the hobbit drifted off into thought, his trousers still hanging low on his hips.

“So cynical.” Bilbo said absently, stepping away from his daemon to reach for the rest of his clothing. “What I meant was that we could tell them, about us hearing them, how we need to help.”

Bilbo was bought back to the howling they'd faced on the moorland, the chorus of pleas and well-meant threats telling Damia to take her pup and _run_.

“No.” Damia snapped without warning, her entire body curling with tension. Bilbo frowned up at her, trying to decipher the influx of convoluted emotions streaming through the bond before she relaxed suddenly, her shoulders slumping. “They are good people.”

“And?”

“Do you really think that Aes and her Dwalin would trust our word? They already think we're spies. Maybe they'd think we- the wargs I mean- deserve everything we get.” Bilbo swallowed hard as Damia trailed off, fisting his hands in the shirt and staring down at his own knuckles. “Not to mention the lynx.”

“She saved me.” Bilbo bought his hands up to cup his daemon's face, pressing their foreheads together as he recalled the moment of contact between him and the lynx.

_**orcs wargs my poor broken pack thorin thorin protect my kits my pack my burgl-** _

“I know, you don't need to show me, don't need to violate her privacy like that.” Damia sighed, jerking away from the contact, her voice soft and sad. “We just need to keep it quiet until we can be sure we won't just make another enemy for them.”

“Okay.” Bilbo nodded, pulling the shirt up his arms and staring worriedly at his daemon's grim profile. “Just know that I don't think any of them are as hard-hearted as they pretend to be, the lynx had nothing but worry running through her.”

Damia huffed but tilted her head in defeat, jumping up onto the bed again to curl up in the little square of sunlight that spilt across the sheets. Bilbo watched her for a moment, a small smile coming unbidden despite all the worry, her eyes closed but her ears twitching restlessly.

“Whoever is outside, please come in.” she muttered, just loud enough to be heard.

The door cracked open slightly, a paw sliding into view as it opened, Bilbo shooting a glare at his daemon and hugging his shirt to his chest.

“Good, you're awake.” The voice was low and smooth, unmistakeably feminine and with a gravity to it that made both Bilbo and Damia freeze, their heads whipping around in unison to face the speaker. “We leave within the hour.”

Stood in the doorway, her amber eyes flashing in the morning light, was the lynx, her dappled grey fur freshly cleaned and free from any sign of blood.

“Oh, right, okay.” Bilbo stuttered, his hands falling to his sides as the daemon stared unblinkingly over his head at where Damia was getting herself increasingly tangled in the blankets.

“I would also like to speak to you two.” The lynx said softly, padding further into the room, her paws silent on the floor.

“I didn't even know you _could_ speak.” Bilbo blurted, blushing as Damia finally freed herself and continued to fidget on the bed.

“I find Thorin does it more than enough for the both of us.” she said stiffly, something like amusement filling her usually inexpressive face as she regarded the panic she had caused.

“Oh, well, I suppose so, yes.” Bilbo stuttered, realising with a jolt that he still hadn't put his shirt on. “And of course you can speak to us.”

“I'm glad.” The lynx said with what was _definitely_ a feline approximation of a smile. “It is more an apology than anything else, something my dwarf is certainly not capable of.”

Bilbo almost choked on his tongue at the words, taking an unsteady step backwards so that the back of his thighs hit the bed. The lynx paced over to look out of the window, much like Damia had done earlier, falling onto her stomach and taking in the valley that spread out before her.

“I am sorry for initiating contact between us, but my kin and I would not have you lost to the hands of the orcs.”

“It is quite alright.” Bilbo said reflexively, glancing over to where Damia stood. She hadn't drawn her attention away from the lynx, a string of emotions coming from her every thought as she took in the other daemon.

“I may not trust you completely, little warg, but we protect our own. And-” The daemon's voice faltered, Bilbo looking up to see a face grim with earnestness, “And you have proven yourself in combat, perhaps even before you joined us.”

The knowledge that the lynx knew at least a little about their history hit Bilbo like a punch in the gut, even though he had known the temporary bond that had linked them during the touch went both ways.

“Well, thank-”

“Thank you for saving my hobbit.” Damia's interruption came with the realisation that this conversation was between the two daemons at the core of it, Bilbo just a secondary figure in a communication based on animal roots that, no matter how close he was to Damia, he could never truly understand.

“You would do the same for my dwarf.”

Bilbo kept silent as the two daemons looked at each other without moving, standing closer than they'd ever been without violence being involved.

“My Thorin has only one desire above all else- gold.” The lynx said after a moment, breaking both the tense atmosphere and her eye contact with Damia. Bilbo frowned at the words, letting him self relax so that he sat on the corner of the bed, startled when the lynx turned her attention on him for what felt like the first time. “No, not in a selfish way. He longs for everything it stands for.”

“Which is?” Damia muttered, circling back to lie at Bilbo's feet.

“With money we can secure our kits' future, a steady flow of food and a permanent den, safe from the winter.” Bilbo conceded that this was probably true, but he was not sure to what extent. He had seen the gleam in the dwarrows' eyes when they'd spoken of Erebor and the treasure it held, showing an obsession that ran deeper than simple need.

“And you are telling us this, why?” Damia said slowly, resting her chin on her paws and staring up at the lynx.

“We have already agreed to help you.” Bilbo agreed, nodding and looking between the pair.

“He- and by extension, me- dislikes and distrusts you because he believes you will never understand our need to get our home back, since you have never needed for anything at all.” The lynx glanced up from where she had been slowly inspecting the length of fur running down her side. “But now I know differently.”

Bilbo swallowed thickly, ducking his head and reaching to run a soothing hand over Damia's flank.

“Why does this matter?” she said, surprising Bilbo with her calmness, her body moving slowly with each deep breath.

“Well now his motivations might be clearer to you.” The warg got to her feet, back arching in a stretch as she moved, her eyes closing slightly against the sun in a show of near-happiness that Bilbo had never seen. “And I would like you to know why you are now under my protection.”

Bilbo thought back to the burst of protective anger that had burst through him when the daemon had dragged him to safety and felt rather scared on behalf of any of this lynx's enemies.

“We can protect ourselves.” Damia snapped suddenly, relaxing just as quickly with one look at the unimpressed expression on the other daemon's face. “But thank you.”

“You're welcome, I expect you to pay the same courtesy with the rest of the pack, of course.” she said briskly, leaning down to straighten a tuft of fur on her side. “I am sorry for our less than polite interactions so far, I hope you understand why it was so hard for us.”

“We do, Wargslayer.” Damia said, voice laced with bitterness, although Bilbo knew she was more resigned or disappointed than angry, the emotions written in every tensed muscle.

“My ability to kill does not define me.” The lynx hissed, her effortlessly calm demeanour slipping for a second. She paused to close her eyes and roll her shoulders, her posture slumping into something a little like defeat. “Call me Sola.”

With those last words she was gone, slipping out of the door soundlessly, leaving only a few strand of stray fur on the white tiles in her wake. Bilbo and Damia stayed in silence for an indeterminable amount of time, their emotions more than enough without speech to justify them as they fired through their bond. Bilbo got dressed as Damia gathered items both owned and borrowed from various elves and dwarrows in the centre of the room, ready to be packed for the journey ahead.

“That was strange.”

“Very.”

“But comforting.” Bilbo knelt to tie one of his pans to the side of his bad, not turning to Damia as he spoke, too fixated on replaying the strange conversation over in his head. “We might end up trying to save two races from destruction at the rate we're going.”

“Lets just hope the elves don't have any issues we can somehow help with.” Damia said absently, tugging at the bag as Bilbo pushed it onto her back, leaving a little space for him to sit comfortably between the luggage and her neck. “She's scary isn't she?”

“Who, th- Sola?” Bilbo said after a pause, smoothing the ruff of fur around his daemon's throat and looking searchingly at her distracted gaze, which still lingered on the spot where the lynx had sat not too long ago. “Sure.”

He tried not to worry about the hint of fondness that hung off of Damia's question, ignorant of the fact that as he spoke, a lynx was pushing the memory of a half-naked hobbit on a blushing and indignant Dwarf King and laughing as she did.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the lack of updates, I have no excuse except for the fact that I am super lazy and am too excited about future plot points to like writing boring but kind crucial fillers.
> 
> The fabulous [scorpionhoney](http://scorpionhoney.tumblr.com/) has given me permission to link [this](http://scorpionhoney.tumblr.com/post/89844965642/they-were-once-elves-designs-for-an-example-of) since it's an brilliant depiction of the creation of orcs.
> 
> Thanks as always for all the lovely feedback, the next chapter should be up by Thursday, feel free to harass me on [tumblr](http://sansa-starc.tumblr.com/) in the meantime.
> 
> Happy BOFA Trailer release day xx


	12. X

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damia is recognised in Goblin Town.

Bilbo jerked awake from convoluted dreams of stone giants and snow drifts, his hand finding the hilt of his little blade before his eyes even opened. He hadn't meant to drift off, not after the panic less than an hour before, but the warmth of Damia's fur against his damp skin had lulled him to sleep soon enough. The brawling giants had settled now, leaving only the sound of rain on rock and the occasional sigh from one of the sleeping Company, daemons resting by their sides.

Sola had kept to her promise of protection, her lips curling into a low growl when her dwarf shouted those few, disdainful words into the roaring wind. It had cut the man short, his hand still clenched in the top of Kíli's sleeve and his eyes feverish with worry and the cold. Now he slept with his back pressed to the stone on one side of the entrance, half covered by his lynx's fur, stained black with water. Bilbo could only guess at what he would have done if Oakenshield had been able to finish what was sure to be a rant about Bilbo's worthlessness, regardless of their new found truce with Sola.

The blue light spilling across the sharp features of the dwarf shifted into shadow, making Bilbo tilt his head to see behind a outcrop of rock, hiding a huddled group of silhouettes from the main cave. Muttered words could suddenly be heard, a muffled laugh bouncing of the walls being choked off with a snort.

Bilbo looked to Damia whose eyes glinted in the low light and shuffled out from underneath his bedding, his heart still racing from the nightmares and not want to be left alone with the dark and his own thoughts. He stumbled to his feet, the conversation stopping abruptly as he straightened, Damia's paws padding against the sandy floor as he stepped gingerly over a sleeping Fìli. The unmistakeable shape of Bofur's hat appeared from behind the rock, something in Bilbo's chest relaxing for the first time since Rivendell at the sight of the weasel daemon looped around his neck.

“Bilbo? What are you doing up?” The dwarf whispered, shifting round to give Bilbo and Damia a place to sit. A little group of dwarrows sat clustered around them, passing a little bottle around their circle, their bright cheeks and glazed eyes just visible in the low light.

“Night terrors?” Gloin asked, his gravely voice thick with alcohol as he stopped speaking to take a swig, his daemon not taking solemn eyes away from Bilbo's. Damia nodded silently, Bilbo tugging his blanket higher around his arms as Bifur clamped a comforting hand around his shoulder. “Aye, thought as much.”

“Welcome to the pity party, hobbit.” Nori said, his shrewd face softened with exhaustion as he tossed the bottle to Bilbo, whose numb fingers slipped on the skin-warmed metal.

“You don't face a dragon then spend the better part of your life travelling through the towns of Men without picking up a few nightmares.” Bofur said softly, straightening his hat with a half-hearted smile. Bilbo looked to the floor to avoid eye contact, running a finger along the cool rock.“We'd never be able to sleep peacefully after a scare like that, so why try?”

“What about the others?” Bilbo muttered, looking to where Oakenshield slept motionless in the shadows. “How do they ever get over the dreams?”

“They don't, lad.” Gloin snorted, running an uneasy hand through his damp beard and quirking his lips. “The angsty sods are just pretending to be asleep, gotta maintain the stoicism and wizened warrior look.”

Dwalin grumbled something rude from the far side of the cave.

Bilbo smiled weakly as the little group laughed into their sleeves or bottles, exploring a curious grove running the length of the side of the cavern with careful hands, flinch backwards when his fingers found something smooth and unmistakeably metal.

“There's something...” Bilbo tried rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Bofur pausing to lean over him and squint down at the lump, Felix running down off of his shoulder to inspect it with her little paws.

“Looks like a hinge.” Bofur said mildly, slumping back against the rock and throwing his head back to drain whatever little remained in the bottle. Bilbo could pinpoint the moment it dawned on Nori, his mouth twisting into a disbelieving grimace before he stumbled to his feet, Corvus flying out over the sleeping dwarrows and screaming a warning.

The last thing Bilbo remembered before the stomach turning fall was seeing sand disappearing through a crack, giving way to wooden panels and the yellowish light of the Goblin tunnels. The mauled stone flew past his eyes, his hand leaving Damia's flank as he was thrown against the sides, sliding down the rough hewn rock before flying through the air, the dwarrows falling either side of him swearing and shouting.

The impact with the ground was cushioned by other bodies and equipment, no one quit caring who they touched in the flailing confusion, flashes of alien fear hitting Bilbo as he clawed his way to the edge of the basket. All around them creatures that he only recognised from the rather sanitized descriptions in books shouted and writhed together in a massive group, clenching mismatched weapons in misshapen hands. Their insect daemons screeched in guttural black speech, calling for blood among the click of mandibles and wiry legs.

Bilbo yelped and squirmed as clawed digits pressed hard around his ankle, kicking out desperately as he was pulled from the pile of dwarrows and onto hard ground, Damia howling out in anger just out of reach.

“ _Art ujak!_ Betrayer!” A large goblin shrieked, Bilbo tasting blood at the back of his mouth as Damia went for it's neck, tearing out its throat with deadly accuracy as the dwarrows continued to fight their captors around them.

Nori grabbed the back of Bilbo's collar, pulling him out of sight and ducking down to whisper words in his ear, breath still smelling of alcohol but his eyes bright and clear with adrenaline.

“They want your daemon, probably revenge, keep quiet or they'll use you against her.” Bilbo nodded desperately, curling his hand around the hilt of his blade and pulling himself toward the centre of the group, hands helping to push him into shadows. “Hide the hobbit!”

They were paraded down narrow pathways that fell away into absolute darkness, torches only seeming capable of lighting the air immediately around them, goblins crawling out of ramshackle slums to heckle and spit. Bilbo was pressed against Dori's side, one thick arm holding him painfully tight as the rest of the dwarrows converged around them, shielding Bilbo completely from sight.

He could feel phantom hands digging into his flesh, Damia being forced to the ground just in front of them, dragged against the gravel and snarling as she tried to fight off the iron-like grip of multiple goblins. Bilbo could feel at least a small amount of the pressure on his own shoulders, the only thing keeping him on his feet the crush of bodies around him.

The pathway was opening up slightly, Dori tensing and cursing under his breath as something Bilbo couldn't quite see yet came into his line of sight.

“What it this? Who dares enter my kingdom?” Bilbo bit his lip to keep from gasping as a massive creature rose from what he presumed was it's throne, pink flesh thick with dirt and dried blood, moving sluggishly as the goblin's muscles strained under the added weight. A fat black beetle sat on his shoulder, pincers clicking as it crawled around it's goblin's neck, chirping in his ear. “And with an named enemy of our allies no less?”

The Goblin King stumbled down so he was level with the rest of his subjects, reaching out to grab the ruff of Damia's neck and twisting it so that her head lay pined to the harsh rock, Bilbo not being able to hold back a shiver as a rush of twisted thoughts flooded their bond.

“Take your hands off of me or you will lose them.” Damia snarled, thrashing against the grip, her teeth snapping even as the amassed goblins began to laugh.

“We have been told to kill you on sight, and your master. Not why though, but I think I know.” The goblin wrapped his fingers around Damia's muzzle, holding it shut as he stared down at her, a mix of distaste and fascination playing in his eyes. “The wargs speak of a _shendrautsham-mabrotnosh_ when they think we cannot hear, a _snaga-scara_ who will free them.”

Bilbo could feel the eyes of various dwarrows on him, his own vision blurring as his stomach tied itself in knots, making him almost dizzy with anxiety. There was no hiding the truth from the Company now.

“Let her go.” Oakenshield's voice cut through all other noise, the crowd parting as he pushed his way through, coming to stand next to Bilbo, angled so that all he could see was the broad span of his shoulders and the graze running down from his temple.

“Thorin Durin and his _cat_ .” The goblin said, smugness dripping off of every self-satisfied word and his eyebrows raised in mocking surprise. “The king without a castle. The Pale Orc _will_ be pleased.”

Dori flinched back at the words, the rest of the Company showing various degrees of disbelief, even Oakenshield's inscrutable mask slipping as he spoke.

“Azog the Defiler met his demise long ago.”

“If that's what helps you sleep at night.” The goblin seemed to dismiss Oakenshield then, a disinterested look passing over his features as he turned to address his audience “Tie their hands, and send word to the orcs that I have a present.”

He turned his attention back to Damia, watching as her sides heaved with strained breaths and her legs twitched weakly, both physically and emotionally drained from the unwanted and prolonged contact.

“Now all that remains is to find your master.” The Goblin muttered, releasing Damia from his grip to circle her, his staff clicking against the stone with each heavy step. “Are you going to tell me or am I going to have to find out for myself?”

“Hurt anyone and you will not live to see another sunrise.”

The Goblin King grinned.

“Watch for any dwarf that flinches.”

Bilbo felt strangely detached as he watched blood blossom on the white cotton of his new shirt, the blade digging deep- deeper than any elven arrow- into Damia's side, sliding past fur and flesh, the wound being echoed on Bilbo's own body. As his daemon yowled up at the cavernous roof he felt himself sway dangerously, unconsciously biting his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, keeping the scream building in his chest silent.

A small pressure in between his shoulder blades kept him from passing out, the warmth of a palm seeping through the material of his shirt and onto his back. Oakenshield stood, stony-faced and impassive, his arm looping out of sight and under Bilbo's, his hand shaking.

“They're hiding someone back here!” Crowed a small goblin whose neck was promptly crushed my a cursing Bifur, who still fought fiercely against being tied up. Bilbo was shoved forcefully behind Thorin even as The Goblin King through Dwalin to the side, finally finding Bilbo among the sea of goblins and dwarrows, laughing as he did.

“A child?” he scoffed, his smile faltering as he saw the matching injury and turning into something more serious. “And yet you share a bond with a creature who even influences the White Warg herself.”

“A hobbit.” Bilbo wheezed, defeat settling in the pit of his stomach as pain continued to shoot back and forth between him and Damia. He gently pushed Oakenshield's- Thorin's- hand away, stumbling forward to reach for his daemon still swamped under goblin bodies.

“The gods have a sense of humour then.” The goblin hissed, his expression turning gleeful as he hooked Bilbo's arm in one great fist. “And are clearly on our side!”

Bilbo looked to Damia as the goblins roared in triumph, letting himself be dragged to the very edge of the wooden platform, feeling hopelessly angry as his Company shouted his name and still fought in vain against their bonds. Damia's didn't look back at him, however, head twisted so that the only way she could look was at Sola, whose yellow eyes looked bottomless in the dim light.

“We'll throw the Golden Bitch and her halfling to the condemned wargs.” The Goblin said proudly, flicking his free hand so that Damia was pulled level with them. “They might even survive the fall, if they're unlucky enough. Then they'll all starve together.”

Bilbo's view lurched as he was thrown backwards, a scream he vaguely recognised as Ori's bouncing of the walls as his feet left wood and he flailed in empty space. His hair whipped into his face as he span, his little sword falling out of his grip as he reached fruitlessly for something to grab onto.

Just before he hit the ground, everything went totally silent, save for the alien rush of wind. A blinding white light filled the cavern, bleaching everything it it's path and accompanied by an unmistakeable voice, muffled by distance.

“Take up arms!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**[cue improbable dwavern escape montage]** _


	13. XI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The One Ring always lets itself be found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end note for a possible trigger. (?)

Bilbo blinked and moaned, his eyes adjusting to the dark as he rolled away from the damp cave wall, the mushrooms that he had landed on bowing under the extra weight. The cavern around him was lit only dimly, strange blue light glittering off the black stone, bending and flexing as the water it bounced off rippled.

He could just make out the shadowed form of Damia, curled in on herself so that all he could truly make out was the light reflecting on her eyes and the vague impression of twitching ears. He opened his mouth to call for her, prodding with careful fingers at his wound, but she stopped him with a weak bark, moving to flatten herself closer to the rock face.

Her gaze never once met his, fixed at a point that Bilbo couldn't see beyond the small canopy of mushrooms and mind rolling with fear and disgust. Bilbo bit his lip and tried to control his breathing, Damia only granting her permission to share her eyes when a rasping, disjointed voice echoed around the cave.

“What is it? A dogs without others?” The creature was bent double behind a rock; thin, white hands splayed out in front of it and massive eyes pale and fixed. “Is it all alone, Precious?”

The sing song words made Bilbo shiver involuntary, still not quite understanding the bone deep fear that Damia was experiencing until he focused on the creature's shoulder.

Sprawled across it was what looked like a length of fur, matted and twisted around one thin limb, unhealthily bald in patches along it. It was only when the creature scuttled closer did Bilbo see the hollow eye sockets and gaping mouth, hanging open in a grotesque parody of a smile and skin stretched tight around bones. From what he could tell it was a rat daemon, silent enough to seem dead, as good as if it wasn't for the weak rise and fall of its emaciated chest.

“Is it?” the creature screeched again, seemingly unaware of the attention to it's daemon, instead running claw-like fingers over the slight lump on the side of his hip, hidden by the rags of his clothes. “I can see in it's eyes Precious. It is scared of us.”

The creature made a sound deep in it's throat, guttural and nonsensical. It seemed to flinch away from its own voice, one long arm coming to shield its eyes for a moment before it dragged itself ever closer. Damia made an attempt at a growl, wheezing out a threat as the creature reached for her, the tips of its fingers just grazing Dust-stained fur.

A flash of movement and the creature screamed, a flurry of silhouettes swarming it that Bilbo couldn't quite decipher, even through Damia's eyes. She had gone silent, still pressed, shaking, against the wall and her thoughts an almost Gordian knot of ideas and emotions, watching as the creature clawed at the stone and squirmed in the grip of whoever had trapped it. By the time it broke free, whimpering and crying out into the darkness for its Precious, Bilbo felt as if his heart was going to burst out of his chest, his cheek pressed hard against the mushrooms.

“You are not pack.” The voice was accompanied by the pad of multiple pairs of paws on rock and was hoarse with disuse, more of a growl than discernible words.

“No, no, I'm not but- _oh, Yavanna_ \- what was that thing?” Damia whined, mind wild with fear and confusion, making Bilbo's temples throb.

“A poor, damned thing whose soul has been ripped from them.” The voice muttered, genuine sadness tinting their words as dirt-smeared paws entered the strip of light surrounding the water's edge. Bilbo could now make out dozens of other similar figures, all strikingly recognisable.

“What has bought you to this cursed place, pup?”

Damia tensed as the pack of wargs moved in on her, soundless and effortlessly fast, dark fur blending into the shadows from where they had come.

“Me and my hobbit have powerful enemies.” Damia replied stiffly, purposely not looking to where Bilbo still lay. The warg nodded slowly, his pack settling in various places around the cave, eyes fixed on where Damia stood and hushed conversations bubbling up from all sides.

“It is true then?” The warg asked carefully, the pack falling quiet as he spoke. “You are the wolf whose bond with your master goes both ways?”

“Yes, yes of course it does.” Damia frowned, a burst of anger rising in her chest as she stumbled backwards. “And I have no master.”

“Then you are luckier than most, _shendrautsham-mabrotnosh_.” The warg said, amongst the sound of muted, but undeniably excited, chatter. “I am Njiya , this is my pack. If you can do what we believe you capable of doing, it is an honour to meet you and your halfling.”

“The two-legs hides over here.” Another voice piped up, close enough to make the hair on the back of Bilbo's neck stand on end, clenching his eyes shut as he felt a puff of breath on the side of his cheek.

“His name is Bilbo, and I am Damia, not- not whatever you call me.”

"In Westron it is 'Bright Queen'” Njiya said with a wry approximation of a smile. “You are young and inexperienced but you are free, that is enough to make you our leader."

Bilbo pulled himself up so he sat eye to eye with the slight brown warg that had spotted him, his lips quirking despite everything at the wide-eyed look of confusion on the animal's face.

“But they are so small.” She breathed, the sentiment shared by most in the crowd.

“That doesn't mean we won't do what we can. We'll do everything in our power.” Damia snapped, chest puffing up indignantly, slinking closer to Bilbo and making the other warg take a cautious step back. “But I really don't see why we are so important to you.”

“We are trapped and you are not.”

“Well why don't you fight back without me?” This was the wrong thing to say, it would seem, Njiya turning on Damia in moment, the little light there was playing across sharp teeth.

"You'd do well to remember _child_ ," the warg took a step forward, nose to nose with Damia and scarred muzzle wrinkled in a snarl, "that if our masters fall, so do we."

"But would you rather die free than live enslaved?" The wargs surrounding them flinched back as if burnt, fury sparking in their eyes as Bilbo stumbled to his feet to hold tightly to Damia's side.

"Do not presume to know us Golden One, in all your comfort and privilege." The snarled words broke into a whimper, Njiya's tail hanging low between thin legs. "It is not as simple a choice as that, if we leave our pups behind."

"They would not survive beyond a month. Not with the cold and lack of prey. Not with the two-legs that would hunt them." A different warg said from the back of the group.

"They wouldn't." Damia snapped, subconsciously curling closer around Bilbo.

"The blades of men and dwarrows are not quick to forget a grudge. As we have killed their children, they will kill ours." Njiya murmured, resigned and heavy with premature mourning. "So tell us, how far do your dwarrows love you? Enough to see the pups of old enemies pardoned in your name?"

“Just tell me in plain terms what you and your kin want.” Damia said after a long moment of silence, her voice cold but her mind clamouring with thoughts that were desperate to please.

“The Pale Queen has told us that, if you can grant the unbonded wolves in the pack protection, we will turn on our masters at your command.”

“But most of you will die.” Bilbo said softly, the warg's eyes turning to him with something perhaps a little like pity.

“Do you think we don't know that, child of the kindly West?” he said gently, head still almost level with Bilbo's despite him lying down, tucking his paws underneath him. “This has not been an easy decision, but this cycle of slavery must be broken. Dark times are coming, and we cannot be part of the slaughter which will surely come.”

The only sound in the cave was the occasional drip of water, the sounds of Goblin Town muffled by metres of rock and empty space, indistinct shouting audible even so.

“We'll talk to the dwarrows, I can't promise they'll help, but we'll try.” Damia said faintly, bowing her head.

“That is all we can really ask.” Njiya got to his feet slowly, old bones clicking as he stood, a grey warg coming to stand supportively by his side. “The others run for Mirkwood on Durin's Day, to hide until you call for a final battle.”

“And you?”

“We are not coming. These were the messengers that spread the word of your existence to the other packs, I am simply too old to be of any use to my master, Bolg. We have been sent here to die, if we escape, our loved ones are forfeit.”

Bilbo looked at the thinning fur and prominent ribcage illuminated my the little light and understood what was happening, shadows deep and prominent on every sharp angle on this warg's body, the appearance of a starving animal familiar enough.

“We're sorry.” Bilbo whispered, looking to each warg that faced them, repeating the same words as earlier but with greater conviction, more of a promise than platitude. “We'll try, do everything in our power.”

“Good.” Njiya said loudly, the rest of the warg's standing to attention, their weak bodies running on muscle memory and loyalty. “Now pick up your little sword and come, the creature Gollum may be mind-sick, but he knows these tunnels better than any orc.”

The warg moved off, paws sinking into water as he wandered off towards a cluster of fallen stones, the others following him, appearing all around Damia and Bilbo as they ran over rocks and through the shallows of the lake. There was a hole in the wall of the cave, plunged into darkness by an overhang but accessible enough to a hobbit and a small warg, a pinprick of light being seen not far away, obscured by black, water-worn boulders.

“Thank you.” Damia offered, her face twisted up into a picture of helplessness, and Bilbo knew she was struggling not to apologise again.

"You are very welcome _art mabrotnosh._ ” He said, the white flecks in his fur clearer now. “On behalf of every pack under the command of the Pale Warg, I pledge tooth and claw to you, sister.”

The use of the honorific was less mocking now, heavy with equal amounts of respect and worry, like he cared for her and not just the freedom she could win for them. Turning away from the two wargs, Bilbo lifted a leg over the circle of rock, not wanting to intrude on the last little moment of solidarity between the two. His hands met gravel as he clambered down into the tunnel, toes pushing uselessly against the sides and his breathing becoming choked and harsh as his wound stretched across his stomach. He pressed himself against the wall to let Damia clamber in behind him, Njiya's face half covered as she moved in front of him, his voice quieter than at any point before.

“We entrust the lives of our pups to you.”

Bilbo nodded weakly, getting to his feet as his sword was sent in after them, clattering on the floor, the sound echoing off the narrow passage. Damia muttered a half-hearted goodbye, turning her back pointedly to the cave entrance and stalking towards the slither of natural light. Catching up, Bilbo could see that her eyes where unnaturally bright, his own cheeks wet with tears he hadn't realised he'd shed.

“I don't care if these dwarrows don't help, we'll make them, _I'll_ make them.” She spat, movements jarring and pained, though whether it was emotionally or physically Bilbo couldn't quite tell.

“We'll find a way to keep them safe whatever, 'Mia. I promise.” He said, trailing off as his foot pressed down against something cooler and smoother than the damp earth. Bending down her realised it was a ring, golden but plain, looking so completely innocuous that Bilbo almost didn’t question what it was doing here, free from any dirt or signs of wear.

“Bilbo, hurry-” Damia snapped, ducking low to turn on Bilbo, fear in every tense line of her body. “What is that?”

“Oh nothing, just a ring, that creature must have dropped it when it ran.”

“Put it down.” Bilbo tore his eyes away from the little piece of jewellery, irrational anger rising in his throat as Damia took a hesitant step forward.

“No, it's mine now.” Bilbo said, frowning, rolling the ring around his palm, the metal so perfect against his dirt-smeared skin.

“I _said,_ ”Damia growled, claws clicking on the slate under her paws, “put it down.”

“Why should I? You're just being silly, we really must go.”

“It feels wrong Bilbo, you think that creature's daemon was so,” she paused, frantically searching for the right words, “ _broken_ because of nature? That was magic 'Bo, bad magic, and I want nothing to do with it.”

“It's just a little trinket, what does it matter?” Bilbo said, voice rising to a near-shout.

“Put it down!” Damia screamed, her panic hitting Bilbo hard, her voice strained and frantic. “I'm not going to end up like that, that _thing_ on it's shoulder!”

“Fine.” Bilbo said coldly after a moment of silence, the only sound Damia's deep, shuddering breaths. “But I can't leave it here, I'll give it to Gandalf.”

Bilbo shoved past Damia, tucking the ring into a pocket on his waistcoat and scrambling up an outcrop of rock, the view of a sweeping valley and the cluster of mountains greeting him, stained gold by the setting sun slipping toward the horizon. Twenty eight little figures moved through the thin line of trees beneath him, tumbling over each other to get away from the few goblins brave enough to venture out into the light. Bilbo sighed and clutched at his stomach, stepping out onto the yellowing grass.

“Now lets go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains discussion of future suicide through self-sacrifice.
> 
> I swear to you things will get a whole lot fluffier after the Carrock scene and The One Ring won't be a major issue for Bilbo and Damia. 
> 
> Anyway, sorry again for all the angst and thank you for all the kind responses. It would be super great if anyone wants to talk out future plot points or just chat with [me](http://sansa-starc.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr :) xx


	14. XII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Through the gaps in the blaze Bilbo saw the white warg again, her fur stained orange by the light and her face something between speculative and strangely- heartbreakingly- apathetic._

Bilbo buried his face in Damia's fur as she barrelled down the side of the mountain, paws slipping on long grass as she strained to keep her balance. The dwarrows had disappeared into the trees, arrow strewn goblin corpses littering the path they had taken through the valley, the muted sounds of shouts just audible from where Bilbo and Damia approached. His daemon had been silent since the argument over the ring, heavy breaths racking her body as she sprinted towards their company, thoughts still angry and muddled. It was always harder to differentiate between who's emotions ran through them when they felt so very, very tired.

Thin woodland surrounded them now, the wind harsh on Bilbo's face as it whistled through the trees, the dying light making it harder and harder for Damia to navigate through the chaos of rock and tree roots. As Bilbo's eyes drooped he could almost imagine feeling that little ring of his through the material of his shirt, a comforting warmth over his chest as the shouting got louder. Damia stumbled suddenly, Bilbo startling to awareness, a low growl rumbling up through Damia's body as another onslaught of bone-deep worry and frustration hit Bilbo. He was just about to open his mouth to say something, though whether it would have been an apology or another defence he wasn't quite sure, when the raised voice became distinct words.

“...fighting like children?” It was unmistakeably Balin, angrier than Bilbo had ever heard him. “Do you think our hobbit would approve?”

“We saw how much the orcs and their wargs hate them, they'll be ripped apart.” Bilbo felt his stomach twist at the sound of Bofur's voice, pitched low with anguish and almost unrecognisable because of it. A howl echoed around the valley.

Without any conscious thought, Damia picked up speed for the last few metres, the pain in her stomach screaming as they burst out of the foliage, a few, weary faces raising to see what they no doubt thought was a fresh threat.

The Company looked wrecked, covered in blood and dirt, their daemons wild-eyed and pressed close to their dwarrows' side. Bifur was being pulled off of Nori, still spitting curses and letting his fists fly at the smaller man, whose own arms had come up to cover his face. Beside the pair Ori was crying openly, his hands closed tight around his ears, eyes closed and leaning into a hunted looking Dori. Bofur was sat, half obscured from sight by his other brother, who looked furious enough to make Bilbo pause, the good-natured face twisted into something Bilbo only recognised from seeing fixed on faces during desperate times.

“Bilbo?” It was Fíli that spoke first, voice weak but looking older than his years, and all the more dangerous for it.

“I'm terribly sorry for the hold up.” The words spilt out of Bilbo's mouth in a blur, Gandalf barking out a rather strained laugh and striding over to where Damia was frozen at the very edge of the crowd. “We're quite okay.”

Kíli hit him hard, pulling him off of Damia and into a hug, arms wrapping tight around Bilbo's shoulders.

“We thought you were dead. You were so kind to me and Fee and-” Bilbo could feel the boy, because that's all he was underneath all the bravado, swallow hard before repeating weakly, “We thought you were dead.”

“I'm fine.” Bilbo muttered, idly patting the boys head and feeling rather shocked. Oakenshield was refusing to look at him and Dwalin had fresh blood dripping slowly down from his nose to stain his lips, so Bilbo knew who wanted to leave them behind. Not that he blamed them .

Bofur shoved past the group to get to him, his weasel daemon crawling with frightening speed up onto Damia's shoulder as her dwarf muttered a few happy, disjointed words into the crook of Bilbo's neck.

“Listen, we have to go.” Bilbo said, loud enough to be heard over the relieved chaos as he gently prised Bofur off of him. “The wargs are coming.”

“You mean your co-conspirators?” Oakenshield hissed in the lull that followed, sharp eyes shadowed and harsh. Bilbo's breath caught in his throat, looking to the other dwarrows to avoid the betrayal on the man's face.

“It's- It's not like that, I swear.” Bilbo winced, “Well it _is_ like that, but not in the way you think-”

“This can wait for another time, it doesn't matter.” Gandalf said over Bilbo's mumbling excuse, looking to where the sound of a hunting warg pack slowly increased in volume.

“It does.” Oakenshield snapped, rounding on Bilbo with a look on his face that made the hobbit's stomach sink.

“I hate to say it, but the wizard isn't wrong.” Surprisingly, it was Dwalin who stepped between them, obviously not sympathetic enough to spare Bilbo a sneer as he spoke. “The halfling's bleeding out and I'm in no hurry to join him.”

As well as being the nicest thing the dwarf had ever said about him, the words were also undeniably true, the other dwarrows' hands going for their weapons. Oakenshield let out a growl more suited to his daemon and, even though he had turned to face away from the dwarf, Bilbo could still feel accusing eyes on the back of his neck.

Bilbo started as a hand wrapped around his wrist, Bifur dragging him further into the woods with a grimace on his face, the rest of the Company following close behind. He grabbed at his sword, numb fingers slipping on the coiled wire on the hilt and regretted not taking up the offer of fighting lessons with Dwalin.

 

_**the pale orc comes for blood** _

 

The scream came from some distance, but was noticeably closer than before, the dwarrows picking up speed despite their exhaustion. Bilbo wasn't the only one who slowed to process the words however, Oakenshield stopping and casting one long look over his shoulder, face unreadable in the twilight. Damia howled in answer, nonsensical and more warg than hobbit, the vague but heartfelt apology catching in the wind and making the dwarrows startle.

The land ahead of them was becoming sparse with trees, the golden leaves on the ground thinning and the earth becoming rocky. Bombur was the first to notice the dead end, shouting from the front of the group to turn back, his voice broken by heavy breaths.

“There's no time!” Gandalf roared, a grey warg leaping into the small clearing, teeth bared in more of a grimace than a growl and an orc on their back. “Get any one who can up the trees!”

In seconds Ori was being swung off his feet and shoved by numerous hands to the low hanging branches, Kíli scrambling up after him with his bow already strung. Gandalf looked around at the stubborn group remaining firmly on the ground and rolled his eyes, taking a step back so he was in line with the rest of the company and faced off against the beast pacing too and fro in front of them.

Bilbo tugged at the curls whipping into his face and squinted into the shadowed line of trees, the flash of eyes appearing in the low light as the Pale Orc's pack gathered, lean body's and bloodstained muzzles lit only by the small slither of sun that remained above the horizon.

He felt it like a punch in the gut when a white paw curled around the edge of an outcrop of rock, thinking for a second that the muted gasp might have been his own until Oakenshield continued, his voice low and terrible over the rising wind.

“Azog.”

All Bilbo could hear as his mind slowly made the connections was the roar of blood in his ears, an alien grief building in his throat that, aside from making him want to scream, didn't feel like his own. Despite all this he couldn't quite manage to drag his attention away from the warg the orc sat astride, her yellow eyes impossibly old and impossibly sad.

_The Pale Queen._

Azog snarled something unintelligible into the cold night air, driving the warg forward with a sharp kick to her side and fixing his eyes on Oakenshield. His attention fell on Damia soon enough, a sharp-toothed smile stretching around the scar that divided his lips and making Bilbo press himself harder against the tree behind him.

“ _Inras!_ ” The single word prompted a war cry from the orcs, sprinting forward with weapons swung high above their heads, descending on the company with foul orcish words and butchered Westron curses. Bilbo tried not to notice how the wargs' feet dragged, or how Damia's emotions kept flicking from blind anger to a desperate, childish panic. Gloin shoved him out of the path of a barbed arrow, Bilbo stumbling and biting hard into his tongue as his hands hit the damp earth hard, his wound swallowing up all his attention. Damia dived in to drag him to his feet, just in time to see Gandalf sing his staff in a great arc, sparks flying from the end as the dead leaves littering the earth caught alight in a neat semicircle around them.

Damia let out a piercing cry that bordered on a scream as the smell of burning fur and skin rose with the grey smoke, the yelps of the other wargs drowning out the sound of metal on flesh as the flames jumped and twisted.

The company edged closer to the edge of the cliff, Gandalf's words drowned out by the shouting as the fire curled up the few trees, the leaves curling and the bark crumbling as the wood began to crack. Through the gaps in the blaze Bilbo saw the white warg again, her fur stained orange by the light and her face something between speculative and strangely- heartbreakingly- apathetic.

The tree groaned as it fell, orcs and wargs scuttling backwards as it swayed dangerously, the dwarrows watching with fascination as the charred trunk gave out under its own weight, a spray of embers bursting into the dark blue sky.

Bilbo felt the strange tension inside him snap as a pathway appeared between the flames, a hand falling on his chest to push him aside as it did so. Oakenshield was walking past him towards the blaze before the company could utter a word, Sola prowling at his feet, her body pressed low and her tail flicking as her Dwarf swung one heavy boot onto the fallen log.

“Thorin! _Thorin!”_ Dwalin shouted, eyes wide and frantic with a worry Bilbo didn't know the dwarf was capable of. The man went to charge after his King but was stopped by Balin and the wall of flames that followed after Oakenshield, obscuring him from view.

“I can see him.” Fíli muttered from the top of an unsteady looking bolder, one hand bought up in front of his face to shield his eyes. “Uncle!”

“You get him back wizard, you get him back safe or a swear to Mahal-” Dwalin roared as he rounded on Gandalf, reaching for the taller man's robes. “He's my King, my best _fucking_ friend and he has to be okay!”

Bilbo jerked his face around to avoid making eye contact with the uncharacteristically desperate dwarf only to be met with the sight of Dori throwing one muscle-bound arm over Kíli's shoulder, who looked lost, his young face smeared with ash.

“By the Valar.” breathed Bofur's daemon, who had scrambled up to join a shell-shocked Fíli, her small voice cracking as she breathed in a lungful of smoke.

“What's happening? What is it?” Dwalin shouted, staring helplessly at the weasel as she gazed across the burning clearing. Gandalf bought his staff down hard onto the ground, a strong gust of wind howling through the trees and pressing the fire sideways, clearing the way just enough for them to see the orcs encircling Oakenshield.

Thorin's teeth were bared, face stained black with his enemies blood, his movements halting and vicious as he went for the next orc that dared to face him. Azog stared impassively at him from a distance, one outstretched arm holding his pack of wargs back.

“You and your kin with die, the Line of Durin crushed into the very earth.” The Pale Orc sneered, his guttural voice carrying even to where the company stood, shocked, behind Gandalf. “Your demise will not be short, nor will your sister-sons'.”

Thorin twisted with a scream, Sola ripping out the throat of the orc he was about to stab before his sword hit its target.

“We will feast on their flesh,” Azog continued, waiting for Thorin to falter, “we will tear your halfling apart while blood still pumps through his veins.”

Thorin's reply was swallowed by the sound of the rising wind, just a silhouette in the yellow light, his long hair whipping wildly around his head and his blade flashing low at his side. Azog threw his head back and laughed, his cruel face shadowed and menacing, his hooked hand dark with rust and blood.

“ _Inras!_ " The Orc repeated, the easy, spiteful grin splitting into something vicious as he shouted to his wargs.

Bilbo heard someone sob, feeling detached as he watched the scene play out like a nightmare, each second dragging on as the night fell still and silent. Anxiety ripped at his throat, denial warring it out with the strange anger in his mind.

He refused to look when a unfamiliar voice broke the moment of fleeting peace, the edge of a growl lacing every word, the sound making every ancient, instinctual part of Bilbo want to run.

“We. Will. Not."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for being lovely, you're great and deserve to find a five pound note on the ground or something xx
> 
> And whoa, wow guys, 500 kudos???!!


	15. XIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Company reach Carrock.

Bilbo watched as the white warg turned to her pack, whose eyes never left her as she prowled away from the roaring fire, tail low between her legs and her shoulders tense. Azog looked down at his mount, fury settling on every twist of his scarred face, and bought his hooked hand dangerously close to the warg's neck. Bilbo bit deep into his lip, resisting the urge to clench his eyes shut as the shadow of a smile appeared on the white warg's angular face.

“You wouldn't dare, Goth Azog.” she said mockingly, making the honorific itself seem like a threat. “You cannot control my wargs, the packs would descend into chaos before my blood even cooled.”

The use of Westron made Bilbo blink, surprised, realising for the first time that the white warg _wanted_ an audience. He glanced back at the dwarrows who were staring at the conflict through the flames, silent and shocked. A muffled snarl made him look back, squinting against the harsh light and trying not flinch away from the growing heat to see Azog's blade sink deep into the rise of muscle on his warg's shoulder. Damia whimpered in answer, her sharp eyes picking up on how patches of the other warg's skin were scarred to the point of hairlessness.

“You cannot control me any more.” The Pale Queen spat, victorious and vicious in a way the made Bilbo feel sick. “I will have freedom or death, I care not which comes first.”

The flames shifted and Bilbo saw Thorin, fallen to one knee with an arm wrapped tight around his chest, his entire body heaving with each breath.

“ _Thlûk, snaga nar baj lufut, ujak._ ” Azog replied, effortlessly dragging his hook through the warg's skin as he spoke, black blood and dust spilling from the wound. The white warg's legs gave out for a moment, growling as she pushed herself back up to full height, back straining. “ _Mabros ash ragur._ ”

A bare moment after he spoke, a choked off howl of pain echoed through the clearing, a burst of gold rising through the fire-lit trees as a knife was drawn quickly over the neck of a young warg. The white warg flinched at the sound, looking pointedly over Thorin's head and nowhere else, twitching as the blade in her own flesh dug deeper. Azog bit out what sounded like a curse, visibly unnerved by the lack of reaction.

“Dwarf-King.” The white warg spoke softly this time, making the most of her master's lull in concentration. “This our act of good will, you will do well not to forget it.”

The world seemed to go eerily quiet for Bilbo, the sound of the wind and Damia breathing swallowing everything else, because this was _it_. This moment was the turning point.

“Fine.” Azog roared in grating Westron, thickly accented and making Bilbo jump backwards, startled away from looking at the hunched form of Thorin Oakenshield. “I will kill him myself.”

The golden eyes of the white warg met Bilbo's, daring him to do something as she shrank back into the shadows, the orcs jeering and spitting insults as the wolves who could disappeared into the night.

Bilbo felt Damia grin, all teeth and pride as the orcs realised how little they could do as the sound of running paws carried on the wind. He felt ill as she bought her nose to the air and howled, the Pale Orc's mangled face turning to look at them through the burning foliage. He thought something inside of him shifted as Oakenshield tried to scramble to his feet, and later Damia will laugh at the feeling of being more warg than hobbit, even as Bilbo will fight the urge to retch.

Azog stood above Thorin, angry to the point of shaking and moving one muscle bound arm back to deliver the final swing, Sola lying on top of her dwarf as if she could shield him from the blow. All Bilbo could hear was the sound of Fíli screaming, held back by a Dwalin, who looked like he was breaking. Damia looked to the pair, suddenly solemn, her mind sending Bilbo a little, smoke-blurred picture of where the flames weren't so high, the trajectories of a jump all mapped out. He stumbled over to where she stood, looking like the predator she was meant to be, and clamped one of his gnarled hands into her fur, pulling himself up so the he sat high on her shoulders. He vaguely remembered some of the dwarrows shouting after him, grim-faced and panicked as Bilbo flattened himself to the line of Damia's back, his nose shoved into her the collar of fur.

He thought of snow and yellow scarves and hat stands. He looked through the flames and let Azog become every orc from every nightmare he'd had since Fell Winter, let himself hear Fíli and Kíli's cries and remember how it felt to see his own father at the hands of an orc. Oakenshield dragged himself into a crouch as the tendons in Damia's legs bunched, refusing to die kneeling in front of the Pale Orc, and then Bilbo's sweat-damp hair was pushed off his face as his daemon jumped.

His head jerked backwards as Damia hit the ground, her muscles coiling again, ready to pounce. Suddenly nothing made total sense, his vision flashing between two points of view and his fingers feeling like claws as they clung to his little weapon.

Bilbo- _Damia-_ bared his- _her-_ teeth, a growl rolling in _their_ throat as Thorin- _Pack-_ looked defiantly up at his last great enemy. They howled and their sword- _claws-_ sung through the wind, a blur of action and pain and Bilbo no longer knew if he was running for- _her mate_ -on four legs or two. _She_ felt the give of the earth as she leapt over _ her _ fallen dwarf, the blade in her- _his_ \- aching hands catching on the hook and forcing it away. The sword fell, brushed aside by the orc- _betrayer_ \- and getting lost among the leaves but _they_ still have _their_ teeth, snapping at it's neck and making the big orc stumble back. Bloodlust sang in their veins and all they could feel was the hunt.

There was a heavy moment of stillness as warg stared at orc, a stalemate between them, the air heavy with tension. Bilbo was tugged back to himself violently, panting like he'd run a mile and still trying to differentiate between his own thoughts and Damia's. He looked between the gap in between her ears and up at Azog, who tore his own gaze away from Damia to look at him with cold, calculating eyes.

“So this is the wolf and halfling my _dyr-snagaz_ speak of when they think we cannot hear.” he spat, Damia's teeth too close to his throat for any real threat to cling to his words. He paused for a moment, holding a hand back to stop one of the braver orcs coming forward, his voice becoming softer. “You are so little, and yet my pack turns against me because of your mere existence.”

“We won't let you kill any more dwarrows.” Bilbo's voice was too high and shaky, strange against the background noise of Damia's continuous growl. Azog nodded slowly, looking at Bilbo with an amusement that made his blood run cold. “Or enslave any more wargs.”

“I thought that maybe I could make an example of your daemon, ride a golden wolf into battle instead of a white one. Keep you as a promise of obedience.” The words are clumsy and guttural, but the message is clear enough, the orc bringing a finger up slowly towards Damia's cheek. “I suppose I will have to kill you all, now.”

Azog's face went from impassive to murderous in a flash, Damia twisting round to try and bite the stump of twisted scar tissue below the hook. Bilbo slid off her back, pressing desperate encouragement through their link as his boots hit the earth. A searing pain along his cheekbone let him know that they didn't have much time left, the battle cry of the remaining orcs filling the clearing.

He grabbed at Thorin, twisting his hands in the dwarf's shirt and pulling him away from where Damia and Azog fought, one of the orc's massive arms curling almost gently around her neck. The breath caught in his own throat as the grip tightened, making him wheeze as he dragged Oakenshield out of sight. He turned just in time to feel the next massive gust of wind on his face, the dwarrows charging across the low flames and charred ground and at the orc ranks, screaming in khudzul as they sprung into action.

Bilbo doubled over as air was forced into his lungs again, watching out of the corner of his eye as Damia was released, her body curling protectively around the unconscious Sola, still snarling at anyone who approached.

A piercing shriek cut through the chaos and shouting, Bilbo having no choice but to look up, finding black silhouettes against the dark sky, blotting out the stars and surrounded by the grey smoke. He stumbled back against the rock, eyes focusing on the blue gleam of his sword, buried amongst limbs and ash before desperately scrambling for it. The screeching continued, recognisable now as bird calls amongst the sound of beating wings, and all Bilbo could do was grip his blade and wonder what fresh new enemy they'd have to face.

A flash of talons and the orc that would have snapped Bilbo's neck got thrown off the overhang of rock, making the hobbit start and fall to his knees, hands over his head. He looked for the tell-tale flash of gold amongst the carnage and saw Damia fighting beside Óin, whose staff smashed hard into the face of any orc who dared approach.

“Eagles! The Eagles are here!” Someone shouted over the clash of weapons, and understanding tried to form in Bilbo's head as feathers appeared close to him, arching back as the bird aims and misses picking him up. Bilbo scrambled back to where Thorin lay motionless, his heart thumping in his chest as intelligent eyes focused in on him from above. He twisted around to try and push Thorin further behind the low ring of rocks, the dwarf's pale face slack and corpse-like in the shadows.

He felt the phantom pressure of the talons closing around Damia's stomach a spilt second before he feels another, realer set grip him tightly underneath his arms, thrashing around as his feet are lifted off the floor.

 

_ calm yourself featherless one, all is well _

 

The words felt like they had been whispered in his ear, low and soft yet audible even over the noise, unmistakeably male and triggering something in Bilbo's memory that made him slump, legs dangling. He was forced back to bedtime stories with his mother, fairy tales about massive eagles from the south who could roam freely from their human daemons. They had always been the ones to rescue the heroes. The thought made Bilbo smile drowsily, eyes heavy and his stomach no longer burning as it had done, the sight of the rest of his Company riding below him easing the anxiety coiled in his chest.

The journey from the Misty Mountains was something Bilbo would later wish he remembered more of, being gently dropped onto the back of another Eagle to watch the world go by beneath him. The warmth of feathers underneath his body made him drop in and out of consciousness, the thin, cool air tugging at his hair as he dozed. The fact that his wound was still bleeding sluggishly didn't seem like a problem any more.

The click of a beak woke him for the final time, the gentle impact with the ground stopping him from falling asleep again, big hands around his waist lifting him from the Eagle and setting his feet down on the rocky earth. Bilbo leant back into the steadying grip, muttering a thank you to the bird with one last touch to the soft plumage of her wings, turning to see who held him up. Gloin looked back down at him, a moment of almost fatherly fondness softening the grim concern wrinkling his brow.

“You alright laddie?” The question was really rather ridiculous, considering how sickly Bilbo must have looked in the pale, early morning light. He nodded anyway, letting his cheek fall against the dwarf's shoulder as the pair of them hobbled towards where the Company were gathered. Damia was being urged along by Bofur's weasel, running circles around her legs as she stumbled toward the crowd. It was only through her eyes that Bilbo saw the sprawled form of Thorin, hidden by the line of dwarrows and Sola, who was still spread protectively over her dwarf.

Gandalf knelt at the dwarf's side, Dwalin and the two other Durins hovering anxiously over his shoulder as he spread a hand across the Exile King's chest. Bilbo felt something in his throat twist worriedly, the ground spinning as the wizard muttered a few quiet words. He wasn't the only one to gasp when the dwarf twitched back to life, his black hair falling across his face as he turned, his dark eyes blinking open, bruised and almost swollen shut.

“The hobbit?” Thorin's voice was grating and small, worn by exhaustion and smoke. Bilbo made to hide behind Gloin, who gave him a chiding look and half helped, half forced him forward.

“He's here.” Gandalf replied, getting slowly to his feet, giving Bilbo a kind smile. Dwalin pulled Thorin to his feet, his two nephews fluttering nervously behind him, grins splitting their young, ash-smeared faces.

The dwarf took a wobbly step forward, grasping at the front of Bilbo's waistcoat and missing when the hobbit stumbled back into Damia. His face was unreadable, the bruising fading slightly before Bilbo's eyes as Gandalf's magic worked.

“You.” He said haltingly. “You stupid, foolhardy halfling.”

“I'm-” Bilbo began, pulling his hands off his stomach to put space between them.

“No.” Thorin said forcefully, wild-eyed and grasping for Bilbo with blood-stained hands. When the dwarf pulled him into a hug, Bilbo's brain seemed to shudder to a halt. “You could have _died,_ never do something so reckless again or I swear to-”

Thorin's voice faltered, his hand finding the bare skin poking above the back of Bilbo's collar and pulling him into the crook of dwarf's neck. Bilbo went easily, going limp in the embrace, closing his eyes against the rough cloth and feeling Thorin's other hand grip, claw-like and desperate, onto the back of his torn jacket. Bilbo felt a burst of relief and affection as their skin made contact, brutally strong and feeling not at all like it was coming from his own battered heart.  

As Dori caught him from behind, his mind wandering towards sleep, he couldn't bring himself to mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there's the end of part one :) Sorry for the hell load of mistakes that are surely all the way though this, I just needed to get this chapter up. Thank you to all for continuing to be lovely xx


	16. Part Two

PART TWO: The Mountain Queen

_A thrush knocks on the worn stone, the small sound echoing through ancient, deserted halls and bouncing around a cavern filled with gold. A goblet falls as movement is found in the mountain for the first time in a decade, a clamour of metal on metal starting as the priceless artefacts avalanche down a scaled side. A deep red slowly emerges from among the yellow, the colour almost indistinguishable from the flashes of ruby embedded in the golden trinkets._

_An eye blinks open, the thin film of an eyelid sliding over the amber iris and the pupil darting around the cavern, swiftly dilating to adjust to the dim light. Another tapping sound, this time muffled, echoes slightly around the massive room. Smaug the Terrible shifts, the noise coming from underneath one of his wings, and spreads the massive limbs, coins cascading off of the translucent hide and onto the piles that surround him. He curls his long neck so his head lies parallel with his enormous chest and, unwittingly echoing the words of a wizard journeying through the Kindly West, says:_

" _Good morning.”_

_Pressed against his fire-warmed side is a comparably small form, dressed in a tunic made of a blanket and wearing rings on each of their ten fingers and toes._

“ _Mornin'.” Leaning heavily on the dragon, the person slowly climbs to their feet, the circlet tumbling from the long, overgrown hair on their head and onto the floor of coins._

_Flashing a sharp- toothed grin at the dragon, the woman looks around at the vast wealth that lies around them, stacked high into the shadowy corners of the main vault, and runs a string of pearls through her long fingers. Her eyes adjusting to the new light, she sees the deep burns in the carved stone and feels his pulse pick up, the memory of hiding behind the collar of scales as her dragon laid waste to this dwarvern burrow filling her with pride._

“ _And to think they are still naive enough to doubt your existence.” Smaug purrs, pushing gently into the hand that is placed against his cheek and hearing the impression of thoughts thrum through the bond._

“ _Well you had to keep me safe, my dragon.” The woman presses a kiss to a scale almost the size of her head and smirks up at the eye that gazes down at her._

“ _Only because you do the same.” The woman reaches up to brush away the dust that had settled on her dragon, pressing the line of her body close as her fingers follow the diamond shaped scales that curl over a massive cheekbone._

_A rush of noise swallows the room as Smaug's tails folds round to cradle his daemon, a thrush flying out towards the bar of sunlight that slips through a gap in the stone._

_A free warg moves towards the mountain with her new pack, but a king-under-the-mountain and his queen Trâgu lie in wait._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was too excited to wait to post this.
> 
> Trâgu [x](http://trend911.com/wp-content/Nicki-Minaj-black-gown-2014-MTV-Movie-Awards.jpg) [x](http://www.myhungergames.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/08/natalie-dormer-v-magazine-superstars.jpg)
> 
> I couldn't decide. Also, I am very, very gay.


	17. XIV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Óin gives relationship advice. Thorin almost grows as a person.

Óin had known Thorin Durin from the boy's first breath.

He'd been small even by newborn standards, tiny enough to fit in two hands as he squirmed and kicked. His face had been screwed up into something infinitely disdainful, a crown of coarse black hair haloing his head, and Mahal knows Óin had felt the urge to drop the babe and run. The gold dust surrounding the child begun to settle around him, the blurred shape of a small animal forming, curled upon his little chest.

It had been his and Ceoe's first week as an apprentice, dragged into the royal quarters as Her Majesty's shouting echoed through the halls, his Master piling blankets into his shaking hands. He remembers how The Queen had crushed his hand as he tried whispering comforts to her, her little ocelot daemon swearing and spitting as her first and most beloved was bought into the world.

Óin had been with him ever since, seen him take his first determined steps, seen his first beads braided carefully into his hair and Sola's hair. Smothered burn wounds with salve. And he wasn't one to forget, between him and his daemon he knew every cut and every broken bone that had ever marked his little Prince. This was why he noticed that something was off, that the little patch of scar tissue just above his navel was certainly not supposed to be there.

“Going out their with your bloody sword waving, what the hell were you- What's this?” He was crouched over Thorin, prodding carefully at the half healed bruises and wounds that littered his torso as Ceoe did the same for Sola.

“It's nothing.” Óin's Prince snapped, voice rough with sleep, shirt twisting in his hands as he tried to shadow the strange little mark.

“Don't act like that with me young man, you tell me how you got that right this moment.” Thorin gave a rather stubborn scowl that made Óin want to box his ears, folding his bruised arms around himself. Ceoe opened her mouth to speak, shutting it with a click as she nodded at the lump of blankets hiding Bilbo and his wolf.

She always had been more observant than he was.

“The hobbit?”

“What about him?” Thorin muttered, sounding unreasonably strained. Óin bit out a curse and ran a hand over his face, clenching his hands into fists where they hovered over Thorin's chest.

“Oh don't act coy with us Thorin Durin,” Ceoe snapped brusquely, jumping over to the other bed in two long leaps. Her nimble fingers gently peeled back the covers to reveal the hobbit's bandaged chest, strips of Beorn's home-woven cloth circling his stomach. “We're not as foolish as you like to think.”

The effect of the words was rather amazing, Thorin's face falling into an expression Óin barely even recognised any more. It was gentle and sad, softening the sharp lines of his cheeks, making Óin's little Prince look more lost than he had done in a long, long time. It made the strange twist of frustration and pride settle uneasily in his stomach, his own shoulders slumping as he looked searchingly at his boy.

“We don't know what to do.” Óin started at the sound of a female voice, Sola's head hidden by one wide paw over her nose. He couldn't remember the last time she'd spoken to him.

“They don't know?” Óin said weakly, Ceoe coming to perch on his shoulder as his knees went weak. To have your One have your one with you but not _truly..._ Oin would wish that fate on no one.

“You must tell them.” Ceoe said, clambering down Óin's arm to prize Sola's arm away from her face. “This is a beautiful thing.”

A smile twitched, unbidden, at Oin's mouth, seeing the hobbit's actions in a whole knew light. No wonder Thorin was as frightened as he was. He put a hand to Thorin's hollow cheek, watching as the dwarf's eyes flicked to his sleeping One.

“The Durin lads always did go for the light-hearted types, you're sister certainly did, god know Frenin would have fallen head over heels for your hobb-”

“They don't have Ones.”

Oin's heart stopped in his chest.

“I'm sorry?”

“Ones.” Thorin swallowed with click, his voice thick with some unnameable emotion. “Fíli said halflings are like elves. They don't have Ones.”

The urgent words were muffled by the back of Thorin's hand, Óin's Prince faltering as silence fell on the room.

“That can't be right, you have shared a wound, an unrequited bond is only reserved for the cruellest of dwarrows.” Óin said desperately, watching as Thorin frowned despondently into the crook of his arm.

“Not completely.” Ceoe said quietly, folding herself into the space between Sola's paws. “Mahal had his One while she did not.”

“Yavanna.” Thorin muttered, an ugly smile pulling at his face. “Balin reckons she was mother of hobbits. I suppose it makes sense.”

“Oh child.” Oin whispered, slumping down onto his stool before resting his forehead on the bridge of his knuckles. The fates had never been kind to the Durins.

“They still have the right to know.” Ceoe said carefully, shooting Óin a contemptuous look. “And these strange little hobbit creatures still seem capable of love.”

“What does it matter?”

“Well maybe you could try to be kind to them.” Ceoe huffed, her sharp reprimand undermined by the careful stroking of Sola's tufted ears. “Or did that never cross you mind?”

“It's too late now.”

“Thorin!” Both Óin and Ceoe snapped in unison.

“Stop being so negative.” The monkey continued chidingly, trying (and failing) to dig her fingers under Sola's chin.

“All you can do is try.” Thorin gave him a dirty look, a little more like the boy Óin knew.

“And if they don't forgive you for being dense, its your own bloody fault.” Ceoe finished with a nod, Óin humming an agreement, only feeling a little guilty.

“Just talk to them, trust them, make peace with this fact.” he said slowly, gesturing to the mark again. “Find out what's wrong.”

Thorin's eyes were still fixed on Bilbo, Sola pushing her nose into the palm of his hand to distract him. Oin ran a length of bandage between his hands, fidgeting worriedly as he looked between the two boys.

To make a bond requited was a gift, not a duty, and Thorin was right to be worried. Óin knew he had had motivations to dislike and mistrust the hobbit and his warg, knew it because those same feelings had sat in his own chest. To have all his theories of a privileged, pampered lifestyle destroyed in a moment- after all the harsh words and sneers- was almost unthinkable, when it came to his One.

“All we know is that we've been keeping truth from us.” Sola growled softly, watching the warg curl in tighter around the hobbit as she slept. “The truth of Orcs and wargs.”

“I'm sure they had their reasons.” The argument felt weak even to Óin, scrambling for more, the image of the little hobbit throwing himself in front of Thorin parading in front of his eyes. He knew the actions of traitors, felt the acid burn of realisation in his throat, but that rescue was not one. “The wizard has trust in him, even now.”

That couldn't be argued, Gandalf almost smashing down the Shapeshifter’s gates in his haste to get in, a tangled blur of spells and incantations falling from his lips. The company had been just as bad, battle-worn and confused, their King slumped unconscious over Dwalin's shoulder and their hobbit staining grey robes red. Beorn had hardly paused in letting them in, seeing the injured warg being dragged along by Shadowfax and his harsh words softening with something like worry. Or empathy.

Óin smoothed the blankets down back over Thorin, dismissing the dark thoughts by watching Ceoe coax a half-hearted snarl out of Sola and a smile from the Prince.

“I would appreciate it if you didn't tell the company, I wouldn't want the hobbit finding out about-” he grimaced, staring pointedly away from Óin or Bilbo, “ _this_ from someone else and feeling pressured to act.”

“You can't keep this hidden for long, they're perceptive dwarrows and too gossipy by half. I have no doubt that Dwalin already suspects something, considering how suspicious he is.”

“And that means Balin too.”

“And what Balin knows, Dori is sure to find out.”

“And Dori can't keep a secret to save his life."

“Which, worst case scenario, means everyone from here to Mordor will know by sundown.”

Thorin turned to bury his face in his make-shift pillow, making a sad little noise that made Ceoe grin.

“Listen,” Oin took the chance to say, “they can't hate you that much, wouldn't have faced down Azog if they did.”

“Thank you.” Sola said when her dwarf didn't respond, looking at Óin with a pair of baleful, yellow eyes. “You have been good to us.”

“Don't let it get to your heads, we're in it for the gold.” Óin said flippantly, standing and flinching as his joints clicked. He smiled and tousled the indignant Prince's hair. “Now come reassure you're company you aren't dead, they've been pining.”

* * *

 

Bilbo's father had always said it was the height of rudeness to eavesdrop, and really, he should have just rolled over and gone back to sleep. But then Óin had started blathering on about Durins and Bilbo couldn’t help but listen a little, mind swimming with exhaustion. And then there was Thorin, sounding so broken and _small_ and not at all like the King he was, his voice startling Bilbo from his doze.

He'd kept his breathing deep and slow even as his pulse beat in his ears, almost drowning out the hushed conversation between doctor and patient. Both him and Damia wanted to bolt, but had stayed to long to anything and too pained to act even if they wanted too.

_Ones._

Bilbo let himself curl marginally closer to Damia, bringing his nails to score across his scalp and letting his eyes clench shut. It all seemed so archaic, so sudden. To have no choice in who you fell in love with, regardless of whether they loved you back, what heartless god would do that?

“Bilbo?” He was vaguely aware of Damia's whisper and the door closing behind a stumbling Thorin. “Bilbo, calm down.”

He twisted so his face was obscured by fur, his arms twisting around his stomach as he shifted. His mind was awash with every moment he'd seen Thorin, Sola's words back in Rivendell, the strange feelings that hadn't felt like his own _or_ Damia's.

“Keep it together 'Bo, we'll be okay. We don't have to do anything you don't want to do.” Damia kept up the constant string of platitudes, soft and kind as Bilbo's heartbeat slowed. “It's just one more person who cares for you.”

“But what do we do? We know and he- them- _they_ love us, or some twisted version of...” Bilbo trailed off, Damia licking his mussed hair and tightening her hold on him.

“We do what ever we want, Little One.” she said calmly, blinking around the strange room they had found themselves in. “We can give them a chance, or we don't. Either way, no one but us can dictate our feelings.”

“You-” Bilbo turned to stare searchingly at his daemon, his question turning into an accusation as he stared, “you think we should go ahead with this.”

“I think we should wait until they tell us.” she corrected carefully, rolling her eyes when Bilbo continued to wait silently. “It's not like this doesn't play in our favour.”

“Mia!” Bilbo squeaked, distracted from his anxiety for a moment. “You're a bigger gold-digger than Lobelia.”

“Better at it as well.” Damia said smugly, her worried eyes turning fond in the candlelight. “And don't deny it, you respect our little cousin.”

“You are a terrible creature.”

“And what does that make you?” She shoved her cold nose into the crook of Bilbo's neck, making him flail and startling a laugh out of him, worry making him giddy. He batted at her muzzle, tugging at her ears to drag her away, trying to hide his face from her tongue as he did so. It was only when they calmed did she speak again, fur sticking up at odd angles and one big paw pining Bilbo.

“They're all more likely to help the wargs this way, and you know it.”

“You're such a romantic.”

“Oh shush 'Bo, they have good hearts, you heard them. And they're royalty. We could do worse."

“Thorin has judged us since we first met.” Bilbo said, throwing his hands up towards the ceiling and pursing his lips. “Just because he's realised some awful divine being wants us to be together doesn't change that.”

“They're realising- all of them are- that there's is more to you than a pampered hobbit with a strange daemon."

“They should like me even if I was.” Bilbo said stubbornly, bringing his hands down to rub at his sore eyes. Damia huffed and rolled onto her back, making Bilbo scramble for the slowly disappearing blanket.

“And they do, otherwise not one of them would have had anything to do with us before we got into this whole Orc mess.” Damia said haughtily, kicking the blanket of the massive bed just to spite him. “What we need to do is tell them about the wargs, and-”

“If they don't kill us as traitors first.”

“Thank you for that.” she sneered, before continuing, “ _and_ then go to Balin about this ridiculous soulmate situation.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry about the wait, I had a bit of a crisis with this fic. What I've decided to do is mess around with earlier chapters a bit, but don't worry it wont be much. I just want (eventually) to make it clearer that dwarven Ones can be platonic and that there are safeguards when it comes to consent, so you won't have to re-read anything. :)
> 
> The next chapter will involve some actual communication (which will be a first -_-) and then they'll be fluff and Mirkwood, which I am super excited about.
> 
> Thank you all for being as supportive as always, feel free to hit me up on [tumblr](http://sansa-starc.tumblr.com) whenever xx


	18. XV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Company had to be told eventually.

Sola watched as the hobbit put a hand to his waistcoat pocket, expression going distant as he shifted, a slither of white bandage poking out from underneath the ripped material. Damia was curled around his back like a particularly foul-tempered armchair, snapping at her hobbit's sleeve and grumbling something.

She knew she wasn't the only one who stared at the pair, the forced conversation stuttering as the food began to disappear, Dwalin making no effort to hide his scowl. Kíli was stroking a hand along the arch of Amo's back, bundling her up into his arms even as she grumbled and snarled, before littering her face with kisses. It made Sola, despite everything, smile. Her kits had spent too long frowning the past few days, worrying for her dwarf and driving themselves mad waiting for the little hobbit to wake. Fíli was worst of course, sulking in the corners of the Shape-shifters den, only now grinning as Regis and Amo ganged up on his brother, filling the room with chirping and purrs.

Sola lay her head back down onto Thorin's thigh, watching his face from below. He wasn't looking at his nephews as she had been, instead staring at the hobbit's profile, his lips pulled taught in a grimace. Baggins hadn't been out of his temporary room for long, still pale and unsmiling in the soft firelight, quiet save for as few muttered greetings and reassurances. The Brothers 'Ur and their daemons hadn’t left his side since he'd entered however, fussing over himeven as some of the other dwarrows shot them wary looks.

Sola wondered when one of them would ask, when one of them would overcome their foolish politeness and break the unspoken confrontation. They all wanted to know why the White Warg- who was the reason Thorin's old fractured knee still ached in the cold- had spoken and then fled with her pack. Why she had spoken with something like admiration in her voice and then spared them all from death.

Thorin put a calming hand to her neck as she was snared by angry, dark thoughts of betrayal and confusion, bending down to put his forehead to hers.

“Calm.” he whispered.

“Just ask and be done with it.” she hissed, snapping half-heartedly at his nose. A small smile twisted at Thorin's lips, tugging at her ear as he glanced up to where Balin sat across from him, eyebrow raised.

“So. Hobbit, Warg.” Cyn said brusquely, having heard the exchange, uncurling from around Balin's feet and causing the named pair to jolt to attention. Thorin shot an amused look at Sola as Balin let out an exasperated sigh, stroking his tactless daemon's neck regardless. “Tell us everything.”

The hobbit twitched uncomfortably, Damia's lips curling into a snarl as she tensed.

“I don't see why it is any of your business-”

“Hush.” The hobbit said tiredly, leaning into his daemon and making her pause, head falling onto the floor as she huffed. “You all have a right to know.”

Sola watched as the hobbit licked his dry lips, hands folding together through the gloves he almost always wore.

He cleared his throat. He met Thorin's eyes. He began to speak.

He spoke of elves and dark, sick magic. Of wargs and orcs and Dark Lords. Sola knew he was a born storyteller from the moment he began to speak, silver-tongued and eloquent. She thought this may also be a way of distancing himself from fact, from the damning words that spilt from his mouth. Thorin's fist clenched tighter as Damia picked up the tale, glancing to the healing wound in her side when she spoke of the nature of a warg's bond with its master. The Grey One nodded along in the corner of Sola's gaze, grim-faced and wary as he watched each dwarf with careful eyes.

“They had no choice in what they did to you.” The hobbit's voice went reedy, laced with a plea for understanding that made Sola force her mind to a place of eerie calm. “It was the orcs, not them.”

“Why turn against them now?” The dark-haired thief said quietly, biting nervously into the skin around his thumbnail. “Why would they sacrifice themselves for us?”

The big gesture he made seemed to encompass more than the dwarrows in this hut, face pulled into a look of sneering scepticism. The hobbit curled in on himself, Damia's head coming to lie across his knees in a mirror of Sola and her dwarf.

“They need your trust.”

“Why?” The dwarf urged again, and Sola felt a streak of protectiveness shoot through Thorin's mind. Sola watched the hobbit blink for a moment too long before he started to speak again, the undercurrent of a growl clear in his words and the way he breathed in sync with his daemon.

“They have children.”

Before she could even think, her eyes were on her closest family, as visibly spellbound as any of the smallest of kits. She even looked to little Ori, open mouthed and pinned under one of his eldest brother's strong arms. Her stomach rolled.

“But they're daemons.” Bombur muttered incredulously, pausing where he was anxiously plaiting straw.

“They are wild too, wild enough to live mortal lives and have pups.” Damia's voice was uncharacteristically sad, void of any anger or frustration. “That's where the orcs get a new _dyr-snaga_ when an old one dies.”

The Shapeshifter snarled at the use of Black-tongue in his home, meaningless when coupled with the terrible sadness that had fallen over him. Sola felt for all the world as if her ribcage was collapsing in on itself.

“The wargs are afraid that, if they sacrifice themselves, the unbonded young among them would be hunted down and slaughtered by dwarrows and Men.” Bilbo tilted his head to the side, mouth listlessly shaping the terrible words. “As they did to your children.”

Sola's first though was to deny. To write off the story as nothing more than that. To deny that a dwarf would ever be driven to enact such brutal revenge. To deny that Sola Wargslayer had ever earnt her name.

“We wouldn't!” Fíli snarled, the fur along Regis' back rising as she hissed. Sola's boy faltered, Dwalin reaching to grip his wrist as he spoke again, voice weak and lilting into a question. “We won't?”

Thorin refused to meet his nephews eyes, bent over his clenched fists and as still as stone, his emotions crushed to a dull hum in Sola's mind through his own stubborn will. The rest of the room fell into near-silence, someone's wheezing, panicked breaths swamping Sola's awareness.

“I don't kill children.” The crow said solemnly from the rafters, black eyes unreadable but fixed on Ori, who was counting Dori's breaths quietly as the dwarf crushed his cup in one hand. Sola's own fear welled in her throat, making her try to drag her gaze away from the brothers, only to fall on Amo. She looked older than her years, and not the better for it.

“Thorin?” Balin said, shaking visibly as he lifted a hand to his daemon's head.“Tell me you agree?”

Sola's dwarf stayed quiet, the emptiness of shock seeping through their bond, their tongues feeling numb and useless. The scream of wood on stone made Sola shiver and jump back, just in time to avoid the table hitting her as it was pushed forcefully away from the bench on the far side. Bifur stood, shoulders heaving with unspoken words. He stepped around so that he stood above Thorin, staring down at his king, before twisting his fingers in the front of shirt and pulling the other dwarf to his feet.

“Not the small ones.” The words were grating and difficult, Bifur's forehead tying itself into knots as he concentrated on being clear. Thorin didn't pull away from the grip for a few seconds, staring at the tattooed fist with dead eyes. When he did it was a small thing, taking a step back, Bifur faltering as Bofur called his name, letting go with relative ease.

Thorin looked across at her, some sign of thought flickering across his face as she pressed closer into the corner of the room. He looked more in control, more _regal_ , than even before Erebor's fall. His injuries only served to make him look more real, gave the words he spoke next more conviction. Sola had never felt more distanced from him.

“Years ago the elves watched our plight and did nothing, let us walk Middle Earth alone and in poverty.” Sola started, the curling fire and dwindling light cutting deep shadows into Thorin's face as he spoke. “Let our children starve.”

His throat clicked as he swallowed, Sola's thoughts struggling to keep up with his. He stretched out one scarred hand towards Bilbo's.

“I would not let it be said that we would ever do the same.”

This was not the first time her dwarf had offered the hobbit his hand, the scene bringing her back to the moments after her first encounter with Damia. The hobbit had picked himself off of the floor of his little burrow, shaken and scared but as fierce as any warg. Now, the eyes of the Company on them once more, a pale hand found a dark one, bare of any glove and clutching tightly with total assurance.

Sola couldn't breathe.

The door was propped open, a slither of blue night sky visible from where she ran from, the cool air hitting her face as she leapt towards her way out. Shouting followed her out, the squeal of chairs and the buzz of worried voices swept away by the wind that slammed the door shut behind her. The gravel dug into her paws as she skidded across it, body twisting to right itself as she continued to sprint.

It was too much. She had to get away.

Her heart felt swollen against her ribs, beating too fast and hard and making her head swim. The smell of the night was beautiful in comparison to the crush of bodies and nerves, the _guilt-hate-fear_ radiating from her pack having almost choked her. She reached the big gates in a blur of grey moonlight and black shadows, the pull of the bond becoming painful as she threw herself against the wood. Her legs shook, the space between her and Thorin twisting around her throat like a white-hot wire, tugging her towards the house once more. She doubled in on herself, biting her own flank in the attempt to drown the ugly swarm of feeling that made her mind fuzzy and confused. Her dwarf was getting closer, his silhouette stumbling and gasping across the garden to get to her, having left his Company.

“Sola.” he gasped, a familiar hand pressing down onto her shoulder, fire-warmed and comforting. “Sola, calm!”

The growl in her dwarf's voice made her pause, the grip framing her face and holding her making her stop completely. An influx of soothing approximations of words and emotions seemed to wash through her, coiling pleasantly in her chest among her own dark thoughts. The happiness seemed forced, tempered by the regret in Thorin's heart, but it was enough.

“We were supposed to be good.” she breathed, watching as her dwarf fell to his knees to bury his face in her fur. “We weren't supposed to be unjust, weren’t supposed to kill innocents.”

“We couldn't have known.”

“ _We should have!”_ Thorin clutched tighter, muttering small, gentle things into her ear as she snarled.

“We can help now, redeem ourselves. Bilbo and his warg have got us allies who will get our home back, give us a chance to pay them back for not understanding.”

“They don't blame you.” Sola knew the voice , the sound of it making her chest ache as the warg came into view over Thorin's tense shoulder as she spoke. The hobbit was tucked behind a massive shoulder, face creased with worry. The warg sounded out of breath and Sola knew she must have run to her.

“They should.” she whispered, the hobbit flinching. She tried not to care, bitterly angry at the pair for following them out. It was hard to look at them knowing how much her own well-being was tied up in theirs, regardless of whether the bond was requited.

“We're sorry.” The words from her dwarf's mouth would have been shocking if not for the fact that they were buzzing around her own head. The hobbit shook his head wordlessly, stumbling forward as his Damia spoke for him.

“No need,” she said as she ducked her tawny head, “you don't have to apologise for _anything_.”

Sola may have pondered the peculiar weight to the words, but the hobbit lurched forward before she even had a chance. He grabbed the top of Thorin's arms, pausing as if to ask for permission before wrapping his arms around his waist. Sola very almost laughed, her dwarf going perfectly still before laying his hands gently across the hobbit's back.

“Thank you for saying you'd help.” Bilbo's voice was lost amid fur, words tripping over each other as he tried to speak as quickly as possible. “You are a better man than I thought.”

Sola felt a burst of affection for the strange little creature amid the remnants of fear, watching as Bilbo tried back-tracking frantically once he realised what he'd said.

“Hush, Master Baggins.” Thorin interrupted, reluctant to let go as he rested his sharp chin on the crown of the hobbit's head. “I deserve any and all scorn for the way I have treated you.”

“You are really very stubborn.” The hobbit drew away, a rather weak smile barely clear in the low light. “But I hear that's a rather good trait for a king.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I might have maybe cried at the trailer. Also, in light of the stupidly upsetting Dwalin scene, I just want to apologise for his characterisation so far. I've got a had plans for him for a while now, and none of them involve him being a dick. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you for the continued support, you're all great xx (good luck getting over the trailer)


	19. XVI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Balin's advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be longer :)

Balin winced as the stick made contact with the back of the hobbit's head, the lad swearing loudly and stumbling forward, his warg throwing herself at Aes in retaliation. Dwalin swung again, his face impassive as Bilbo threw himself at the ground to reach his weapon and avoid another hit.

“Move quicker.” Balin's brother barked, kicking the stick away from the hobbit's grasping fingers. “You'd be dead by now.”

“I'm trying.” Bilbo gasped, rolling before pushing himself hastily upright. He paused, gnarled hands spread out in front of him just as Dwalin prepared for another swing.

“Try harder.”

“Please just let me-” The hobbit let his head fall forward, catching his breath. “Let me just take off my shoes.”

The hobbit's legs gave out as he sat with a thump on the ground, even before Dwalin could agree, casting a nervous look around before pulling off his boots. Balin felt Dori tense beside him, his spoon clattering against his cup as the hobbit glanced across at them. Balin tried not to stare too much at the missing toes, conscious of Bilbo's discomfort as he stood once more.

Yet another unsolved mystery.

When Thorin and Bilbo had come back the night before, faces red from the cold night air and shoulders a hair's breadth away from touching, Balin knew the hobbit still had his secrets.He hadn't paid too much attention though, intent on Thorin's wild eyes and Sola's jarring movements. It was only when Bifur had pushed a bowl of soup into the hobbit's hands, the lad muffling a sob unsuccessfully in his sleeve, that he drew his attention to the lad.

You heard horror stories about the type if thing him and his warg had spoken of. They were the type of tales he was told as a boy.

And they were real.

And now the dwarrows who'd crushed him in half a dozen hugs were protecting the lad in the only way they knew how- by toughening him up. Dwalin seemed the only one unaffected by the story, some kind of fierce anger barely hidden behind his eyes as he taught the hobbit how to fight. Balin's brother seemed to have guessed at something the rest of them had not.

Balin glanced over at Dori, who was watching the hobbit dust off his trousers and pick up his makeshift weapon, smiling slightly at the other dwarf's expression. The contentment he felt knowing the hobbit had been unofficially adopted into at least two dwarvern families helped him ignore the worry for his brother. Anyone would do well not to mess with someone Dori cared for.

“Right, that's it.” Dwalin snapped, making Balin glance away from Dori to where his brother had the tip of the weapon digging into the hobbit's neck. “We're trying something else.”

“I don't see the point.” Bilbo spat, jaw set and face angled up at Dwalin's, visibly seething.

“You will.” Dwalin snarled back, pushing past the hobbit to stand beside Aes, who had her teeth hovering over the warg's neck. She'd been more gentle than Dwalin, snapping at the dwarf when he got too rough and mindful of still-healing injuries. “You're better with your feet on the ground, I'll give you that much at least.”

“But?” The hobbit replied, worry chasing away any trace of pride.

“You aren't used to it, they're too damaged to be much help.” Bilbo flinched, Dwalin rolling his eyes and gesturing over his daemon. “So you've got to use your warg, that's what it's there for.”

Balin patted Dori's arm as the cup in the other dwarf's fist began to creak and split.

“Excuse me?” Bilbo replied, polite outrage almost comical from a figure covered in mud and bruises.

“Use it's-” Dwalin caught himself with a scowl, turning pointedly away from the sound of Aes' disappointed whine. “ _Her_ feet, use her balance.”

“What?”

“Those orcs ride the wargs for a reason.” Balin's brother didn't meet the hobbit's eyes as he spoke, running a hand over his tattoos.“You should too, it's make you faster, less likely to have to wave your little sword around and risk dropping it.”

The hobbit paused, looking to his daemon before answering with a single, hesitant nod. The idea had been discussed before, but putting it into practise was another matter, after all that had happened since. The warg knelt to help Bilbo onto her back, nudging his hand with her nose and looking across at him with baleful eyes.

“You're not an orc 'Bo, you're far too scrawny.” she said carefully. “Now get on, we'll figure this out somehow.”

Balin sat with Dori and watched for the rest of the afternoon, soaking up the late summer warmth and watching the oddly-matched four fight together. It was clear the hobbit and his warg were closely bonded, Damia compensating effortlessly for any shift in Bilbo's weight, the hobbit himself pressed close to fur and muscle. It reminded Balin of watching Sola and Thorin, feline grace and stubborn pride identical in every movement the pair made. Balin's king was more similar to the hobbit than he'd ever be likely to admit.

It was getting dark by the time Bilbo sat beside Balin, Dori on him in moment with careful hands and soothing words. The lad sat patiently as he was fussed over, obediently nodding at the right moments an making the tension drain from Dori's shoulders with each passing moment.

“You shouldn't strain you injury.” Dori's doe said softly, staring at the bandage that trailed underneath the hobbit's lose shirt.

“It's fine.” Bilbo said politely, bowing his head at the daemon and making Dori look even more aggressively protective. Not everyone showed respect to daemons as gentle and harmless as Dori's, no matter how fierce their dwarf was.

“You've gotten better, even after just a day of training.” Balin said, watching as the hobbit gently guided Dori's hands away.

“Getting beaten up by your brother has that kind of effect.” he said with a wry smile, his warg coming to lie at his feet. In the setting sun, her fur looked golden.

“No doubt.” Balin replied, passing the lad and apple he'd been saving and watching the hobbit's face light up.

“Just remember Bilbo,” Dori said as he stood up, picking pine needles off the wool of his shirt. “A bond is the best thing any mortal has got going for them, so you should treasure it, and use it.”

Balin was the only one that saw the hobbit pale at the innocent words, the warg shifting uneasily as Dori made his way inside. Dwarrows had a habit of meaning well while doing exactly the opposite.

“You okay lad?”

“Just,” he paused, darting a glance towards Balin, “bonds seem to be more trouble than they are worth, for some.”

“I think that says more about the creatures of this world than the bonds themselves.” Bilbo nodded along to Balin's words, staring across at the massive entrance to Beorn's house. Balin, thinking of being trapped soul-deep by someone like an orc, suddenly felt his age.

“Fíli, he was telling me about the bond that dwarrows have.” he shifted, uncomfortable and unable to hide it. “He told me about Ones.”

“Ah yes, he is lucky enough to have found his. After the fall of Erebor not all were so lucky.” Balin said quietly, wondering why the hobbit looked so troubled when considering the more beautiful side of bonds.

“How do you-” he stopped abruptly, seeming to gather himself and his thoughts. “How do you stop this 'One' thing from being abused. What makes absolute dependence on another so much better than what the orcs do?”

“There are laws.” Balin said quickly, rushing to reassure the hobbit. “And yes, laws are broken. But these are woven into ever inch of our history and culture. To coerce your bondmates in the old days would be punishable by death or exile.”

“When the damage is already done.” The warg said bitterly, speaking up for the first time.

“Not always.” Something in the hobbit's face made Balin continue, letting a dwavern secret slip in the dying light. “Negative emotions can break a bond, from any of the parties involved. The bond with a One is not as strong as the one a dwarf has with their own soul.”

“Well.” Bilbo said, Balin not looking up from where he carded finger's through Cyn's thick fur. “That is a, a good thing to know.”

 _That is a relief_ was unspoken.

“Dwalin came to be with a strange theory not long ago.” Balin said idly, before he could voice what he thought the hobbit really meant to say. “Him and Aes seem to think Thorin has found his One.”

“Oh?” The single syllable seemed punched out of the hobbit's throat, his daemon's ears pressing back against her head. Cyn laughed.

“They say Thorin has become calmer and Sola wilder.”

“That's strange.”

“Not as much as you think.” Balin said, watching as Bilbo took a bite out of his apple to hide his face. “No matter how similar they may seem, they were born in very different circumstances, for very different purposes. Thorin grew up in opulence, heir to a throne and treasuring calm and happiness. Sola only settled when we were cast out to the surface, she took on her form to survive, to embody the fiercest parts of my Prince.”

“It's no wonder they look for completeness in different ways.” Cyn muttered, tucking her nose under her paw. “Sola sees danger in being tied down and settled, and yet her dwarf craves that kind of stability.”

“If anyone was to accept Thorin as a One.” Balin continued carefully, watching Bilbo's torn expression. “They would have to accept both him and Sola.”

The pair fell into silence, Balin turning his face to the sky to watch it turn a darker blue.

“I'm worried.” Bilbo whispered, rolling his shoulders and looking down at his daemon. “ _We're_ worried.”

“As much as it pains me to say this.” Balin sighed, watching silhouettes pass across the yellow light spilling from the windows across from them.”Deal with Thorin only when you feel you can. He has enough love from the rest of us to keep him going.”

“And if we can never deal with it?”

“He'll just have to settle with being your friend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. And I swear this wasn't supposed to become a critical analysis of soulmates -_-
> 
> If anyone wants to talk BOTFA (holyshitholyshitholyshit) come talk to me on my [tumblr](http://sansa-starc.tumblr.com/) :) x


	20. XVII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Company venture into Mirkwood. It goes as well as could have been expected.

Mirkwood was a strange place, full of shadows and bright-eyed wild things that moved from tree to tree. It was dangerous, undeniably so, but it also smelt of good earth and rain, the slithers of sunlight that made it through the canopy illuminating a wood that Bilbo could have grown to love. Damia was already there, despite the sickness that hung over the forest, calm in a way that she hadn't been for a long time. This place suited her, and Bilbo could imagine packs of wargs hunting here once, as quiet and fierce as their home.

They'd been trekking for what seemed like days, becoming increasingly familiar with the back of each other's heads as they followed the winding path. Some of the dwarrows were taking it better than others, the darkness that surrounded them not like the kind that came with caves. Bilbo had taken to walking with Nori, the dwarf's raven fluttering above their heads, the thief surprisingly at ease.

“Us 'Ri's have always been strange folk.” Nori said when Bilbo asked how he could stay so calm, the pair watching as Bofur tripped, only to be caught by Balin. “The same could be said for you and that daemon of yours.”

They fell into silence, the Company uncharacteristically quiet around them. Bilbo glanced to where Dori's doe strayed easily from the path, white coat bright in the dim light. Ori's daemon was in her usual spot among his scarves, but Bilbo could see her big eyes reflecting like a cat's among the wool.

“Among Men, bird daemons only belong to witches.”Bilbo said after a moment, words sluggish on his tongue.

“Oh, we know that.” Ori piped up from behind. “Some humans don't like magic-users all too much.”

“It's something about the long distance bond that unnerves them.” Nori continued, reaching to his shoulder to scratch his daemon's chin. “Not that that applies to me an' Corvus, no matter what they think.”

Nori went on to talk about the traders that had come through Ered Luin, sounding so different from the Men Bilbo had met in Bree. It was nice to have someone to hear stories of adventures from,with Gandalf and Shadowfax missing. When Nori stopped abruptly, the group trailing behind them stumbling into each other, it took Bilbo a moment to be worried, the Mirkwood leaching the thoughts from his head like a dream.

“There is something watching us.” Bilbo felt the hair on his arms stand on end, a curious shiver running down his neck.

“Maybe a warg.” Damia said from where she stood with Sola, voice breaking the expectant pause that has fallen over the Company. “It would be in their interests to keep us safe.”

“They stopped following just before we entered this damned place.” Nori replied, hand falling to his blade without a glance. “Those wolves of yours aren't as stealthy as they'd like to think.”

Bilbo hummed thoughtfully, hand brushing against the silver webs that disappeared in and out of the shadows. What he'd give to take a cutting from the massive trees that grew above them.

“Baggins.” Bilbo blinked, turning to see Thorin's profile, hair escaping from it's tie to frame the strained lines of his face. “Keep focused.”

He never had a chance to see if the order, panicked and worried as it was, would have snapped Bilbo out of the strange drowsiness that swamped him, the spiders doing the same job regardless. He'd never been scared of insects, always small enough to catch in a mug or go unnoticed in Bag End. But these- these _things_ , they were awful. In a moment they were visible, silhouettes seeping from the darkness, with their eyes catching the light, horrific and intelligent and not like anything Bilbo had ever seen.

In a second he was being pushed up onto Damia's back, Nori's hands pulling at the collar of his shirt to help him, the tell-tale sound of swords being unsheathed filling the wood. The click of mandibles and the rustle of many legs on fallen leaves made Bilbo's breath speed up, his sword in hand as he settled on the arch of Damia's back. He looked across at his dwarrows who were, despite their surprise, fighting as one, roaring at their enemies. Dwalin even appeared to be punching a spider to death, a thrill of pride fighting the terror Bilbo felt.

It was one of the last conscious emotions he felt for the duration of the- admittedly short- battle, easily identifying a problem with riding his daemon into battle as she barrelled headlong and fearlessly into a spider. It wasn't long before Bilbo couldn't tell whose blood smeared across his skin, the chaos increased tenfold by the close contact with the spiders, closely knitted branches trapping the Company.

A particularly large spider found high-ground before Damia could even comprehend the movement, rearing up and launching itself at Bilbo and his daemon, overbalancing the pair of them and sending Bilbo sprawling to the ground. Finding purchase on the leaf mulch was hard, Bilbo twisting in an attempt to face the spider that stood over them, hissing and creaking as its fangs moved. The shock of a hand on his shoulder made him cry out, very nearly gouging a line down Thorin's snarling face.

“It's me.” he growled needlessly, the sentence punctuated by the sound of arrow into flesh as the dwarf dragged Bilbo to safety. The spider slumped to the ground, inches from Bilbo's outstretched arm, the flights of the arrow that had felled it, unfamiliar. Thorin spat out a curse, hands planted either side of Bilbo's head, broad shoulders blocking him from view. “Elves.”

The sound of Fíli's war cry made Thorin start, getting to his feet with a grace more suited to his daemon, staring up at the trees with a terrible anger on his face. Bilbo scrambled up after him, looking desperately around for Damia in the crush of people, Thorin disappearing into the trees. They'd been driven from the path, the light no longer bright enough to see clearly, the growing darkness oppressive and unbearable. A flash of white made him look down, Dori's daemon looking up at his with her black eyes, a smear of red running along her flank.

“Cereus?” he wheezed, his gaze jarring upwards as the leaves moved audibly above them. “What's happened? Where is everyone?”

“Bilbo, you have to hide.” she said urgently, ears twitching as the forest fell into near silence. “Dori is with Damia, we'll find them when this passes.”

“Lets find them now.” Bilbo snapped, hearing movement behind him and twisting round to find nothing, just the vague outline of a rock face.

“We can't afford to draw attention to her.” Cereus bit out, assuming the soft, stern voice she'd used on Nori countless times. “Elves have no love for wargs and we can't afford to let you get hurt. It wouldn't effect just you.”

Sola. _Thorin._

Bilbo closed his eyes, the rush of a fight fading into exhaustion. A distant pain was twisting around his shoulder, burning his skin and pulling at his muscles, Damia's anger climbing to it's height.

“Okay.” he said, barely louder than a whisper. He knew that the little deer by his side must have been as feeling as wretched as he did, the ache of being away from their bonded growing stronger. “We've got to keep close.”

Cereus nodded wordlessly, gold dust curling from the wound across her face, delicate chest heaving. It was only seconds later that Bilbo stumbled, a howl echoing through the trees as he grasped at his neck, legs going weak. The strain on Bilbo's shoulder had spread seemingly in lines across his throat, Cereus looking anxiously up at him as he used a low-hanging branch to steady himself.

“What's wrong?” she said desperately, careful not to touch bare skin as she pressed up close to his leg in an attempt to support him.

“Rope.” Bilbo choked out, Damia being dragged further and further away as he scrambled uselessly in the dirt. “The elves have them.”

The pain faded as quickly as it had come, allowing Bilbo time to get to his feet, not quite feeling thankful. It only meant Damia was being led further away from him.

“We have to run.” And once upon a time Bilbo would have taken that as an escape, but know it felt like a battle cry. He did what the little doe said, wondering what use it was when the pair of them were powerless, and wishing so hard for Damia it was painful.

Stumbling through the darkness was terrifying, following the pull of anger that tied them to their daemon and dwarf blindly, stumbling over roots and hoping fiercely that the spiders wouldn't find them. Cereus was becoming increasingly panicked, the small sounds that followed them deeper into the forest finding her sensitive ears, not even a flicker of movement accompanying them.

They both forgot to look up.

If they had, Bilbo might have noticed a swath of dark hair and the graceful movement of long limbs. As it was, the only warning the pair got was the soft thump of feet meeting earth as the elf jumped down in front of them. Bilbo threw his hands up uselessly in front of his face, the creak and click of an arrow being drawn sending a shiver down his back.

“Either of you move and I will not hesitate to kill you.” The lilt of an accent twisted the words into something musical, Bilbo freezing in place as the clearing fell silent. The elf was taller than the humans of Bree, with a sharp face and dark eyes, features different- _crueler_ \- than any elves he had already seen. “You are with the dwarves and their warg?”

Bilbo nodded quickly, not sure what else he could possibly do, breathing hard as he tried not to twitch and fidget. Damia's anger pulled in his chest.

“Your friends,” he spat the word, eyes falling to the shaking Cereus, “have been captured. You will now come with us.”

The elves that appeared out of the corner of his eye moved silently over the fallen leaves, and Bilbo had to stop himself from turning to watch and possibly getting shot as they came from all sides. They been led into a trap, he knew that now, the steep banks of the natural path they'd followed perfect for a ambush. Not that it was needed, Bilbo's sword heavy and useless in his hands as he heart beat hard against his ribcage.

A language that Bilbo vaguely recognised as Sindarin passed between the group, grim, perfect faces appearing from the trees with bows and swords drawn. Bilbo sighed, tired and guiltily pleased that he'd be closer to the Company again, to not be lost in the strange, beautiful wood any longer. There was the matter of the arrow pointing unerringly at his throat, but that didn't seem so important any more.

His hands were bound behind his back, his sword taken gently away from him. They were then bundled into the centre of the group, Cereus keeping close to his side, muttering what sounded like Khudzul swearwords under her breath. The pull of the bond relaxed, but Damia was still furious, snarling and biting in the depths of Bilbo's mind. But still he walked on, trying to ignore the curious looks he was getting from the elves, paying extra attention to where he put his feet. It occurred to him that these seemingly ageless beings wouldn't have seen a hobbit before, not so far from the Shire.

It also didn’t escape his notice that their hands were careful and sure as they guided him through their wood. These elves seemed more than the emotionless immortals Bilbo had been told about. Even their leader seemed not quite capable of taking his eyes off Bilbo, something fascinated flickering in his otherwise cold eyes. Despite his anger, and despite what the dwarrows had said about the elves of Mirkwood, Bilbo couldn't help seeing a little of his Tookish cousins in some of their faces. It was a comfort, a little hint of the humanity that Bilbo rationally knew that elves possessed, even if it was hard to see at times.

These thoughts accompanied him through the forest, time just as vague as it always was in Mirkwood. As he got closer to Damia he felt a little more like himself however, exhausted and hurting but suddenly very much in the mood to shout at some elves. The blindfold tied tightly around his eyes didn't help his mood, the thin hand on his elbow ready to catch him if he fell a small mercy. His captors conversation picked up as they found well worn paths, high voices rising in laughter and chatter that was unnervingly beautiful for something so spontaneous. It was probably best that he hadn't spoken his mind, endless amounts of stairs leading downward into the earth rather hard to navigate without his eyes.

And then they stopped. The soldiers behind him had either gone silent of disappeared, and Bilbo's mind was humming with Damia's relieved _furious_ thoughts. A cool hand on his face and the blindfold was removed, the lead elf crouched in front of him with the same odd look in his eyes as before.

“You are a hobbit? From the West?” he said after a moment of silent study, the tilt of his head quick and birdlike. Bilbo blinked, startled, liking his lips as he he searched for words.

“Yes.” he said, voice hoarse, forgetting for a moment about his daemon and dwarrows to look at the strange elf. He could have been a child for all Bilbo knew. “From the Shire.”

“What is it like?”

“Beautiful.” Bilbo said without pause, the corner of the elf's mouth twitching as he continued. Cereus stayed pointedly silent. “But not like it is here. It's safer, prettier. Everyone knows each other and family recipes are guarded closer than jewels and trinkets.”

“Thank you.” The elf said quietly, but still genuine. He stood slowly, looking strangely satisfied, thoughts far away. He put his hand to the ornate door that stretched up in front of them, taking a graceful step forward as he pushed it open, his next words almost lost under the squeak of hinges. “It sounds lovely.”

Bilbo didn't have time to dwell on those strange words, eyes falling for the first time on the halls of the Elvenking. Inside, dramatic arches and candlelit walls surrounded twenty eight bedraggled figures, clustered around a towering throne and hurling abuse at the top of their lungs.

Bilbo found himself grinning.

He shouldn't have expected anything different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter should be up soon, considering I seem to be the queen of inconsistent updates.
> 
> I just want to mention that Legolas (who starred as lead elf in this chapter) will be pretty OOC in regards to movie!canon, and not just in looks. This is a little bit to do with me disagreeing with his characterisation in the hobbit films and a lot to do with me needing him as a plot device. 
> 
> Anyway, I want to say the biggest thank you to everyone still reading this, you're all amazingly lovely and patient.


	21. XVIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo meets the Elvenking.

The Elvenking sat slumped on his throne, face impassive even as his hands curled into fists. The crown on his head was made up of pale wood and golden leaves, his fine silk robes twisting around his legs to fall in a pool at his feet. To his side, Damia lay, silent and waiting as the dwarrows around her shouted and the rope around her body strained. The doors shut with barely a whisper as Bilbo stepped into the throne room, hands twisting together as his daemon's eyes fell on him.

“Listen here you _shirumundrukhas ,_” Fíli spat, stood at the front of the crowd, a hand on his brother's shoulder to keep him from charging the Elvenking. “You give us back our hobbit. Where is he?”

A roar of approval went up, elves shifting uncomfortably as the dwarrows struggled violently against their bonds. The Elvenking leant forward, baring his teeth at the group in an ugly sneer.

“I have no quarrels with halfings.” The elf quietly, the cold tone of his voice cutting through the noise. “Just tell me what business the warg has here.”

“We've said.” Dori huffed, visibly exhausted. “She's my daemon. Now answer the damned question.”

The Elvenking slumped back onto his throne, eyes snapping from Thorin to Bilbo, lip curling. Bilbo felt pinned to the spot, motionless as the King in front of him beckoned carelessly with one, thin hand.

“Here he is.” Bilbo watched as his friends turned, saw the tension in Dori's shoulders as he stopped himself running for Cereus. Bilbo curled his arms around his stomach, careful to avoid looking too much at Damia, instead focusing on Sola. She was covered in blood and dirt, the fur along her back stood on end as she twisted backwards, snapping teeth at the rope that bound her. “Why don't we ask him?”

“I'm sorry?” Bilbo asked automatically, falling back on manners that seemed ridiculous among the high ceilings of an elven palace.

The Elvenking stood in one, fluid motion, and despite their bravado, the dwarrows scattered. The elf stalked forward, steeping neatly around a stubborn Thorin with a disdainful glare. In a moment he was metres from Bilbo, staring down at him as the dwarrows threw insults at his back.

“I was wondering if you or your party know why wargs have been venturing into my kingdom?” he said slowly, and Bilbo suddenly recognised the similarities between this King and Bilbo's guard, saw them in the thin lips and harsh bone structure. “Would you be able to provide me with an answer?”

“He doesn't owe you anything.” Thorin snarled, standing pointedly in front of Damia, his hands trapped behind his back. “Bilbo, you don't have to answer-”

“The wargs are here?” Bilbo said, cutting Thorin short in his surprise, eyes flicking unconsciously to his daemon.

“I'd never let a threat get so close to my people.” The Elvenking said imperiously, eyes searching Bilbo's face carefully. “But you and your _gornoth_ know something.”

“As long as they fight against their Orc masters, those wargs are under the protection of Erebor.” Thorin said suddenly, pushing past an elf to get closer to the Elvenking. “They bought a message of peace, of _warning_.”

“What would you know of peace?”

“Enough to help those in need.” Thorin sneered, a cruel smile pulling at his lips that made Bilbo's skin crawl. “Or at least hear them out.”

And suddenly they were no longer talking about wargs, caught up in their own feud, the Elvenking's attention no longer on Bilbo.

“Damia is my daemon.” The words were out of Bilbo's mouth before he could consider any implications beyond saving any more wargs that tried to go through Mirkwood. “The warg, we're bonded.”

The Elvenking was silent for a moment, as were the dwarrows, all waiting for a reaction.

“Prove it.” The elf said simply, stepping aside. Bilbo didn't need any more prompting, stumbling down the massive steps towards Damia. She pulled against her ropes, Bilbo's hands sinking into blood-matted fur as he breathed easily for the first time in hours.

“Little One.” she said softly, sad and hoarse in Bilbo's ear. “Think carefully about what you do next.”

Bilbo's laugh was startled out of him, letting himself wrap his arms around Damia's neck as their audience went silent. How different this cautious Damia was to the one who'd bounded out of doors on adventures.

“Why are you here?” The Elvenking said, tone strange with a forced calm that made Bilbo start. He turned to the elf, who looked shocked and not a little bit disturbed, and knew that it had been a test that he wasn't supposed to have passed. “Why do you bring monsters and dwarrows into my domain, little creature?”

“I really do think you're giving me too much credit for all of this.” he said, voice halting as he tried not to fidget. “Both the wargs and the dwarrows just want a safe place to live, your forest is just in the way of it.” He paused. “Not that it's a horrible forest or anything, just rather large.”

That reassurance didn't seem to help.

“You drag my people into danger.” The elf's face held some strange emotion that took Bilbo a while to place. Not anger, but fear. “A dragon will burn the forest you speak of, and Orcs will tread the ash soon after.”

“So you know of the kind of devastation a dragon can wreck on a kingdom?” Thorin snarled, sarcastic and cruel, a round of jeering and insults coming for the group stood at his side. “Why should we stop our quest and help you and your people when you did not do the same for us?”

Bilbo gritted his teeth, tired and furious, wanting to be at home with no thought of the political struggles in far off places. Thorin had revealed their intent, blindly diverting the conversation from the struggles of the wargs to his own bitter grudges. He heard Damia start to growl again, his own nails biting into the soft skin of his palms.

“Stop it.” he said, voice embarrassingly squeaky as it echoed back at him. “Stop squabbling like faunts.” He flinched back when attention turned back to him. “You have to think of the larger scale of things.”

“Do not speak, halfling, of which you know nothing of.” The Elvenking said dismissively, and Bilbo had never wished more fiercely that he wasn't so short than in that moment.

“How _dare_ you.” he spat, forgetting himself as Damia's anger and indignation swept through him. “Do you truly think that your races are the only ones to have faced hardship, to have had you homes threatened?”

Silence fell on the throne room, a dangerous sort of quiet that almost made Bilbo falter. The dwarrows were staring at him, worried and betrayed, Thorin's teeth bared as he tugged once more at his bonds.

“Have you been trapped in your Greenwood so long that you have forgotten that elves are not the only ones to feel grief and loss, to not want to sacrifice themselves and their families?” Bilbo said, taking a step backwards so he could lean slightly against Damia's shoulder. “Dwarrows and elves are the same really, with your long lives and old grudges. These insular societies make you lost and vulnerable and you don't even know it.”

It was Damia who finished for him, voice calmer than his own, her thoughts more collected as Bilbo breathed heavy and fast.

“Darkness is falling on Middle Earth, and you must see beyond your forest and long years of grudges to survive them.” She tilted her head, staring cat-like at the Elvenking. “The dragons of this world will wake regardless of your inaction, but you can choose to help those whose misfortune you could have easily shared.”

Bilbo blinked up at his daemon and wandered what had happened in a few, short months to make her this way. It was sad to see the change, and Bilbo knew, for the most part, that it was irreversible. It was necessary in this terrifying new world that they found themselves in, though, with it's princes and kingdoms and dragons. The pair of them had somewhat outgrown the Shire.

“Legolas.” The Elvenking said after a moment, all emotion drained from the words as he sat back down upon his throne. Bilbo's heart sank. “Escort our guests to their quarters.”

The dwarrows shouting returned, but not a single elf moved, eyes fixed at the door. Bilbo turned to see what they were looking so intently at, finding his guard standing tall and imposing at the top of the stairs. He looked about to say something, muscles tense as he looked down at his king.

“Now.” The Elvenking snapped, without much force, the other elf finally moving for Balin, who stood closest. The other guards took their cue from him, rope tightening once more as they fought with the dwarrows and their daemons to drag them toward the exit.

The corridors they were led into ran impossibly deep, torches and the occasional flash of open sky the only things lighting the way. He was thankful for the dull light, in a way, not being able to stomach the defeated look on his friends' faces. The dwarrows had gone quieter with earth above their heads, especially the older ones, the elves looking unnerved by the change. Bilbo's elf, Legolas, led the way, muttering quick instructions to the others, his hand not straying from his sword.

The row of cells that waited for were hewn out of solid rock, bare, but clean. Bilbo moved to step inside the first, an arm on his shoulder stopping him.

“No.” Legolas said, unemotional as he gently tugged Bilbo back. “You and your warg will be kept away from the others.”

It took a while to calm the dwarrows down after that, especially when Thorin was taken aside too, eyes wild and hair spilling across his face as he struggled. Damia pressed close to Sola, the pair of them snarling as they were herded toward two narrow passages. Bilbo looked anxiously up at Legolas, tired and bewildered and not wanting to try and fight again. The elf's gaze was fixed resolutely at the wall, trying to appear emotionless, but not quite managing it.

“ _Don't you touch me_.” Damia spat suddenly, backed shaking into a corner as the elves tried prying her away from Sola with spears that looked wickedly sharp. Legolas said something low and commanding, the other guards faltering as their leader stalked forward, Bilbo tripping over his aching feet to catch up. He glanced back at the group in time to catch just a small word of Khudzul, Dwalin's voice loud and his face pale.

_“Iglî!”_ The order was largely ignored until Dwalin's daemon turned her nose to the air and let out an ear-splitting howl. Bilbo may not have known what was going on, but neither did the elves. The dwarrows and their daemons, however, seemed to come to life, suddenly as violently loud as they had been in the throne room.

Bilbo looked dazedly for Thorin in the sudden chaos, the sound echoing through the corridors and making even the elves flinch. No sooner as he'd turned, Thorin appeared, shoulder to shoulder with Bilbo as he pressed in close, head bowed to whisper in his ear. It was choreographed, the noise building as Thorin began to speak, the wiser dwarrows casting them careful looks.

“I'll get you out of here, I'll get us all out of here.” he said softly, breath warm on Bilbo's cheek. It was a fierce promise, Thorin's jaw clenched and his words quick, but as Bilbo pulled back to look at his face, he realised it was also an apology. Why the damned dwarf couldn't just say sorry was beyond Bilbo. “If you get a chance, run. Find my sister, but make sure you're safe. Both of you.”

“Thorin-” Before he could finish, Legolas' hand closed around his arm, the elf looking hunted and uncomfortable. It was probably for the best, Bilbo not knowing what he'd say in the face of Thorin's earnest eyes, but it still pained him to be dragged to where the corridor split in two. The dwarrows had gone quiet again, uncharacteristically solemn as the kept their daemons close, away from any elf's long limbs. Most of them offered up half-hearted grins as Bilbo got pulled further along, Thorin disappearing from view with a foul-mouthed curse that made his nephews' smiles just a little bit more genuine.

Damia had no choice but to follow, trotting up behind Bilbo to snap at some of the elves still trailing behind. Bilbo put a hand to her shoulder, watching her eyes reflect in the torchlight for a moment as they ventured deeper into the palace. Bilbo knew they couldn't resign themselves to imprisonment, not with the responsibility they had, and he couldn't imagine the dwarrows feeling any different, but he worried. He had no doubt they'd get out eventually, he just hoped none of his fool friends would get hurt in the process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have zero excuses for the wait, next chapter will be up quicker and have some actual plot in it -_- This fic will pick up pace soon I swear and finally live up to its rating :)
> 
> Thank you for all the feedback you're all brilliant and patient and a* people x


	22. XIX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I pledge my bow to you, Bilbo Baggins, and to all of your kin."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right so last chapter found the Company imprisoned in Mirkwood, just in case you needed a recap. Grovelling and excuses in the end notes.

Tauriel wasn't drunk enough to deal with dwarrows.

Her prisoners had hardly paused for breath since their cells were locked, going from foul insults to crude jokes in a moment, looking half-feral with their low voices echoing down the corridors.

And yet, they weren't completely how she'd expected them to be.

They looked wild, yes, but something in their jarring movements told Tauriel that it wasn’t just due to their travels. There was something old and well-worn about the kind of tension that filled their rare silences. Even their king, arrogant and vicious as he was, wore simple, ragged clothing that didn't look like it would have been impressive even before their trek through the Mirkwood. His creature was terrifying though, even more so than the others, and Tauriel was glad to have it behind bars.

Elves were born whole, and to see the brutal nature of the stone-born personified into breathing, living animals was unnerving. It wasn't as if she hadn't seen these notorious daemons before, human convoys always filled with creatures, but it was still not normal to see them prowling around her wood. It was Legolas that seemed the most shaken by it, strung somewhere between furious and achingly tired, the line of his shoulders tense, and his movements jarring. Tauriel had made sure to stay close before the warg was gone, noticing how her friend's eyes never once settled on anything else except the little hobbit or his daemon.

And now, the dwarrows asleep and her feet aching, she was stood alone, looking across over the palace. Lanterns bobbed in the darkness, the only visible movement at such an early hour, her prisoners loud even in their sleep, ridiculous snores making her fight back a smile more than once. One was still awake, shuffling around in a way she supposed he thought she couldn't hear, whispering to his lion.

“Excuse me?” Tauriel flinched at his voice despite herself, hand falling reflexively to her sword.

“What do you want?” she snapped, and she knew she shouldn't be engaging with any of the dwarrows, but she couldn't help but be a little fascinated.

“I was wondering if you knew if my Uncle was okay?” he said softly, eyebrows pulled into a frown, face pressed close to the bars so he could see her. “The angry one?”

“That,” she said, lips twitching, “does not narrow it down, dwarf.”

“He's got Sola, the big lynx thing?” he continued quickly, a blush spreading across his cheeks. Tauriel paused, staring down at this dwarf's fluffy hair and crooked smile, his eyes big and imploring.

“You mean you're the prince?”

“'Course, I'm the spare in case Fíli goes and elopes or something.” he said, nodding to the blond who shared his cell. “Though I can't see him doing that any time soon.”

“You don't look like a prince.” The words were out of her mouth before she can stop them, taking a quick step back when the lion turned its eyes on her.

“I will take _that_ as a compliment.” Tauriel felt the ridiculous urge to kick him in the face as his smile grew impossibly wider, dimples appearing on his cheeks. It faltered just as quick as it had come, however, his creature shifting anxiously as he pulled it back onto his lap. “But really, is he okay?”

“We are not barbarians.”

“And Damia?” He paused, biting into his lip. “She's the-”

“The warg is fine.” He relaxed all at once, slumping against the wall with a sigh.

“Good.” he said softly, carding fingers across the cat's back. He was silent for a moment, a frown wrinkling his forehead as he glanced up again. “Do you think your King will be letting us go?”

“Why would I tell you?” Tauriel replied sharply, genuinely interested despite it all.

“Because you seem nice?” He said, looking stricken. “I think?”

Tauriel bit back a smile, glancing down the corridor. Something she grudgingly recognised as guilt rose in her throat as she turned back to the Prince, who managed to look less and less like royalty with every word.

“He doesn't believe your warg's stories.”

“Do you?” he said, not missing a beat. She paused a moment, looking away from the dwarf to stare up at the few stars visible from gaps in the rock above.

“I grew up with stories about the twisted nature of orcs, and their damned wolves.” she said, quieter than she would have liked. “And then you lot come, with your mission that will bring fire down upon my people, and you pardon these creatures' actions.”

“'m not asking whether you _want_ to believe us, just asking if you _do_.” he said, a little bit crueller than his other words had been. “And you know that we only want to do this to get our home back, can't you respect that?”

“The only thing I can respect, _dwarf_ ,” she spat, falling back into the easy contempt a decent elf should use around the stone-born, “is that your race are not above trickery to fulfil their greed.”

Silence fell, and Tauriel was forced to turn and see the Prince's face when he didn't reply. The lion was crouched low, tail flicking and a growl rolling in it's throat, but the dwarf just looked sad. Resigned.

“All my life I've been poor.” he said after a moment, fists clenching reflexively where they lay across his knees. “I think we have the right to be a little bit greedy, after everything. And I don't think its right to think we'd trick you into trusting a group in league with orcs.”

Tauriel felt a little bit awful after that, her words too much like Thranduil's.

“I'm sorry.” she said, and the dwarf's head snapped up, eyes wide. “I have spent my life training for war, and accepting a story that could make us so vulnerable is not in my nature. Especially considering what is happening in the West.”

“'s alright.” he said, after a pause, that infuriating smile once more stretching across his face. “It took the wargs saving us before we were ready to believe-” He stopped abruptly, frowning up at her through the bars. “Wait, what's happening in the West?”

Tauriel blinked, confused, because _surely_ he of all people would know.

“An army gathers.” she said, watching the Prince's face carefully. “An army of dwarrows. They march across Emyn Uial towards the Ettenmoors, we've been told-”

“Tauriel.” She stumbled at the sound of her name, the familiar voice stern and cutting. Tauriel turned, eyes quickly finding the spot in which Legolas stood, half obscured by shadow. “I wish to speak with you.”

“Of course.” she said, wincing at the barely concealed tension in her voice. She moved to leave, not risking a glance back at the dwarf, when a hand wrapped itself around her wrist.

“No, wait, please.” The dwarf said desperately, not appearing to notice he was seconds away from losing a limb, “Who leads them? I need to know, I'm begging you.”

“A white warg.” she said, freezing on the spot as the dwarf's hand slid down her arm to grasp at her hand. “And Dís Durin.”

She pulled away, conscious of Legolas's eyes on her as she turned her back to the dwarf, who didn't say another word. She followed Legolas out of the hallway of cells, heading towards one of the tunnels that branched off it.

“What do you want?” she said, not unkindly, reaching for Legolas' shoulder when he didn't stop. When he did pause, profile cast into darkness my the lamp behind him, it took him a moment to speak.

“You were giving away information to one of the prisoners.” he said, impassive.

“I though he already knew.” she hissed, regretting how defensive she sounded as soon as the words left her mouth. “And what is he going to do with it, stuck in here?”

Legolas' hand went to his face, tense shoulders dropping as her rubbed at his eyes, looking suddenly tired, and older than his years. She let herself lean against the opposite wall, blinking slowly as she tried to gather her wits. When she looked up again, Legolas was standing closer, lips thin but gaze strangely soft.

“You believe this story of theirs?” he said bluntly, more a statement than a question. Tauriel nodded anyway, wondering what it mattered what she thought when Thranduil was so set in his ways. “And do you think what they are doing is right?”

She tried to catch his eyes, shocked that he'd even ask, because saying yes to a question like that was something like treason. He refused to look at her, Tauriel reaching out to nudge his chin up, his face pale and eyebrows pulled down into a scowl.

“What is this Legolas?” she said gently, even as he stumbled back away from her touch. “Why are you acting like this?”

“We need allies.” he said quietly, and something uneasy settled in Tauriel's stomach.

“And what has that got to do with wargs and dwarrows?”

“The halfling is right, there is something evil rising, and if I am to be a good Prince I need to keep my people safe.” He finally looked at Tauriel, hugging his arms around his waist. “And I'd like to be on the right side of history, not remembered for letting a whole species be enslaved, then pleading for their help when war came to our door.”

“Your father will not like this.”

“I know.” he said with a lopsided shrug, and Tauriel couldn't help but smile, suddenly achingly proud of her oldest friend. He mirrored her expression, sad, but a little bit more confident than he had been. “But I think it's best if I talk to the halfling.”

“I'm coming too.”

“He's not dangerous.”

“He's got a warg at his side, I think it is safe to assume he is more than he seems.” She didn't wait for his answer, taking a step down the corridor toward where she knew the halfling was being kept. Legolas laughed behind her, quiet and slightly strained, but still helping to slow Tauriel's frantic heart.

She stepped back when they neared his cell, letting Legolas take the lead as the hushed sounds of two other voices echoed down the tunnel. She could see the silhouettes of the warg and the halfling on the wall, the latter's soft voice talking animatedly. The sound of their footsteps made the two prisoners stop abruptly, and Tauriel stepped into view just in time to see the halfling's face go from stressed to shocked. He jolted into motion, scrambling to his feet, the warg stopping her pacing to glare at them, her yellow eyes sending a shiver down Tauriel's back.

“Oh, hello.” the halfling said, hands fidgeting as he glanced between the pair of them, obviously nervous. “You aren't here to tell me that king of yours has changed his mind by any chance?”

“I'm afraid not.” Legolas said, ducking his head and seemingly oblivious to the weak joke. “But I would like to make a proposal, if you will hear it?”

Tauriel wasn't prepared for the way the hobbit's face went cold at that, muscle twitching in his jaw.

“I'm not going to betray my friends.” he said shortly. She was grudgingly impressed, realising for the first time that the halfling wasn't accompanying these dwarrows to their cursed mountain for personal gain, or even that of the wargs he seemed to close to.

“And I wouldn't make you.” Legolas said, serious, shooting a wary glance at the hobbit's daemon. “I would free all of you.”

“What?” The warg said, echoing Tauriel's own thoughts, with a snarl.

“In return for your word that you will try your hardest to protect the Greenwood.” he continued, Tauriel not missing how he clasped his hands behind his back to keep the from shaking. “From _any_ threat that it may face.”

They all knew who that encompassed, knew that to be indebted to both dwarrows and elves could lead to a conflict in interest. The hobbit let out a shaky breath, looking to his warg as she answered for him.

“We are not as powerful as you seem to believe, elf.” it said softly, coming to stand at the halfling's side and stare down at Legolas. “But we can make sure the wargs know you as friends, and that should be enough to keep your home safe.”

And it was a desperate action of someone who knew they couldn't do any better, but Tauriel recognised that this strange pair seemed to underestimate the influence they had. With a silver tongue and the loyalty of a powerful few, this little halfling could move the powers of Middle Earth around like chess pieces, if he so wished.

Tauriel gritted her teeth against a protest when Legolas lowered himself to one knee, knowing what he intended to do only as he did it. She caught the telltale flash of metal as he pushed something into the halfling's palm through the bars, bowing his head as the hobbit's eyes widened in surprise.

"I pledge my bow to you, Bilbo Baggins, and to all of your kin."

"What? Why? Your father- I thought you meant petition him for our freedom, not just _give me the key_ -”

"You have made it clear that there is something worth defending beyond the Greenwood. My _Adar_ will come to his senses soon enough, until then, I serve you at your command."

"Thank you, thank you so much, I thought the quest was over for sure, and now, now we've got a chance." The halfling cut his babbling apology short, grabbing at both of Legolas' hands through the bars. "You'll get into trouble. Both of you."

"I might not understand much of what goes on beyond these trees but I know how important a home is." Legolas tilted his head in a strikingly bird-like motion, looking at the hobbit's face with searching eyes. "And I think that the races of Middle Earth should not be fighting each other as something so evil gains strength in our world.”

There was a second where the only sound was heavy breathing, the hobbit's sharp eyes turning to his warg for a brief moment, the two seeming to agree on something with only a look.

"If you are ever passing through the Shire, don't hesitate to seek me out." The hobbit fumbled the words, the promise seeming painfully insignificant next to the oath. Legolas obviously didn't think so however, his entire face lighting up at once, and Tauriel didn't know whether to feel relieved or bitter. She could- and would- offer Legolas many things, but his desire for beautiful, fascinating places and sights beyond the Greenwood were something she could never offer. Thranduil was determined to keep the people he loved safe, even if that meant isolation, and that included his son.

"I will. _Adar_ says my duty is here but I will. We both will." He said it with such conviction that Tauriel couldn't help but believe him. "You will wait until night to escape when our festivities begin.”

Tauriel smiled grimly at that, because now was the point of no return. Legolas had made up his mind, and Tauriel knew, when Thranduil eventually found out about their involvement, it would be her that got punished. He would not banish his son, after all. She bit hard into her lip, turning her thoughts to Legolas' smiles and the dwarf Prince's imploring eyes, to the thought that by doing this, she was gifting her soldiers with an army of wargs.

“Now, Master Baggins, would you do me the honour of telling me about your journey so far?” he said, trying for nonchalance but not quite managing it. “I have not seen the West except within paintings and books.”

The halfling's lips twitched into a smile, crowsfeet bracketing his eyes as the warg inexplicably began to laugh.

"Don't get him started, we'll be here for an age."

“Oh, do be quiet you mongrel.” the halfling said, shoving at the massive warg's shoulder good-naturedly. Tauriel tensed at the easy interaction, aware that a beast that size could snap the halfling's neck without a thought. Legolas caught her eye, smiling softly as he sunk to the ground, legs crossed, and beckoning for her to follow. “And of course I will, though not for long, we have planning to do.”

“I'd expect nothing more.” Legolas said, at ease in a way Tauriel doubted she'd ever be around this strange halfling and his creature.

"In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will finish this fic if it kills me I swear to you now.
> 
> I kind of lost all my writing and couldn't bare to rewrite everything for a while, which is my excuse for the delay. I do have drafts written for future chapters, so updates should be a hell of a lot quicker now, especially after I've finished my exams.
> 
> So yeah, sorry, you've all been as lovely as always so I thank you for that. Please point out any plot holes, if you don't understand something, its usually my fault :D xx
> 
> Oh and the place names mentioned just mean Dis is basically going in a completely straight line from the Blue Mountains to Erebor :)


	23. XX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tilda doesn't like being left alone in Lake-town while her Da' fetches the barrels.

Tilda never realised her family were strange until Bain came home with blood trickling down his temple, his rat daemon hidden up his sleeve. He'd been biting back tears when he had burst through the door, furious and hurt, because they'd never thrown rocks before, only insults. Tilda had known for a while now that it had been her and Floki's fault, because normal children's daemons didn't settle so soon, and definitely not into birds. Da' had come home later than usual that night, fingers gone red from the cold, and brushed Bain's hair back with a grim look on his face. He had told them they had a touch of witchblood about them, as he always seemed to do, but it was sadder than usual, carrying a weight that Tilda had only begun to work out.

As she grew older, she realised that she may be strange, but she was also lucky. Floki could fly away for days on end, sending her little flickers of far off places and people, and if children threw rocks at her, she could always throw bigger ones back. It was her siblings she felt sorry for, because Sigrid had nightmares about flames and things yet to happen, and Bain could get the sense of a person at a glance. These things might have been useful, but they were young and they were poor, and so nobody listened.

Tilda pressed herself closer to the ground, watching the strange group gathered at the waterside, and was struck with a single thought: _well they'll have to listen to her siblings now_.

They were dwarrows, that much was clear, half of the Forest River soaked into their clothes and their lips gone blue. She shifted, peering through the reeds to count off the men on her fingers, Floki hopping back and forth in front of her. She bit into the inside of her cheek, too close to escape without being noticed, and not particularly wanting too.

“I'm going to find Da' and Ivo.” Floki said softly, black wings fluttering nervously as Tilda nodded, eyes not straying long from the dwarrows. She watched him disappear, impossibly glad that they'd come along today, despite the cold.

The strangers had moved far enough from the bank for Tilda to hear snatches of their conversation, seeing their drawn faces in detail for the first time. They looked terrifying for the most part, their daemon's massive and their faces scarred, but they were shivering all the same, most of them gripping at each other's arms and speaking hurriedly in a guttural language. She starred for a while at the dwarf only half hidden by another, the wound in his leg staining the rocks red underneath him.

“There's an orc pack on our tail,” another one snapped, tying sodden hair into a bun at the base of his neck, his profile sharp and cruel, “we must keep moving.”

“And Kili's leg?” the blond one asked, tying off the injury with a strip of cloth, shooting a scathing look at the other dwarf.

“You have two minutes.” the dwarf conceded, and the others relaxed a fraction. This same leader dwarf took a step closer to Tilda's hiding place, making her tense as his lynx's eyes flickered past her, but moved instead to the strange dwarf sat with his head in his hands. At least, Tilda _thought_ he was a dwarf, just like she _thought_ his daemon was a particularly large wolf. She pushed herself up onto her elbows to get a better look, watching as the lynx began to systematically groom the wolf, the weird dwarf going an even brighter red, hands flailing.

She was frowning at the four of them, remembering what Floki had said just that morning, when a hand descended from the sky and picked her up by the back of her collar.

Whatever the tattoo'd dwarf said as he plucked her from the long grass was drowned out by her screeching as loud as she could. She twisted round in his grip, toes grazing the floor as she hurled herself forward, legs kicking out as her stubby fingernails clawed at his hands. He let her go pretty quickly after that, mud splattering up her skirt when she landed in a rather large puddle, glaring up at the dwarf as he spat a few words in a language she didn't recognise. She whirled around, casting her gaze upwards to see if she could see the tell-tale smudge of black, a surge of panic rising in her throat when all she saw were grey clouds.

The other dwarrows had jumped to attention at the commotion, movements twitchy as they formed a loose circle around her with barely a thought.

“Who are you Lass?” the tattoo'd dwarf who'd caught her growled, a hand braced against his stomach where she'd landed a kick. “What were you doing sneaking around like that?”

“I live near here,” she said after a pause, setting her jaw and trying her hardest to glare, “ _you're_ the ones who should be answering questions.”

“That is none of your business.” The leader dwarf said, voice faltering, a hand on the weird dwarf's shoulder. Tilda pushed hair out of her eyes and then folded her arms, trying to imagine what Sigrid would do and say next.

“Then you should just let me go then.” she couldn't help but keep the tremble from her voice, fiercely hoping that Da' and Ivo would be appearing at any second. It seemed to have an unexpected effect on these dwarrows though, who all stumbled back away from her, eyes going wide, and hands going up.

“No need to be worried bairn,” a dwarf from the back of the group said, his hair stark white and fluffy, “we'll be on our way if you want us gone.”

The tattoo'd dwarf's harsh face had gone apologetic, his dog daemon's tail wagging feebly, and Tilda wondered at just who these dwarrows could be. She shook her head when it became clear they wanted an answer, trying half-heartedly to flatten out her skirts as the dwarrows exchanged glances between themselves.

“Stay.” she said shortly, eyes falling once more on the wolf.“My 'Da will want to speak with that warg of yours.”

The reaction to her words was instantaneous, and Tilda watched in amusement as the dwarrows tried to hide a warg twice their height, tripping over each other to stand in front of it.

“What do you mean?” a dwarf with a hat clasped to his chest said carefully, pushing the weird dwarf back. Tilda shrugged.

“It's one of those wargs everyone has been talking about, isn't it?” she said, watching said warg shoulder it's way past it's dwarrows.

“And what wargs would that be?”

“The rangers have their stories.” she said with a shrug, wary to tell these strangers of Floki's travels and the rumours he'd bought home. “But I should probably wait for my Da' to come back before I say anymore.”

“Your 'Da?” said the weird dwarf with a frown, following the warg to stand close to it's side.

“Yeah, Floki's gone to get him.”

“Floki?” The blond asked, looking up from where he was crouched over the injured dwarf, momentarily distracted. Tilda swallowed nervously, sticking her chin out haughtily before continuing.

“My daemon.” she said simply, able to see the flicker of realisation in these dwarrow's faces as they figured out her daemon wasn't just hidden in the folds of her dress like everyone always assumed. She glanced away for a moment, catching a flicker of movement on the banked pebbles behind the crowd of dwarrows, a flick of a cats tail. She grinned.

“Get away from my daughter.” Her Da's had a arrow notched, Ivo spitting furiously at his feet, fur scruffy and eyes bright. “Or I'll put an arrow through each one of your throats.”

The quiet, angry voice was enough to make every single dwarrow turn in unison, their daemon's tensing, ready for a fight.

“No, don't!” Tilda said quickly, because she's not sure if her Da' meant it. “They've got a warg with them.”

Da' tore is eyes away from the group to stare at her, face blank with shock. He'd calmed Sigrid down too many times after dreams of wargs for him to ignore one appearing so close to Laketown, especially with Floki's new stories. His arms dropped, making the dwarrows shift uneasily, looking between Tilda and her Da' in confusion.

“What is this?” the lead dwarf said fiercely, wiping blood from his cheek. “What do you want from the wargs?”

“You haven't heard?” Ivo said, his tail lashing from side to side. “Wargs like that one have been sighted across the whole of Middle Earth. Without their Orcs.”

“They say a a single warg howled at the gates of Minas Tirith, another in Edoras. Apparently they even ventured into Lorien and Mirkwood, though whether they survived...” Da' finished with a shrug, making fleeting eye contact with the warg before turning his attention back to group at large.

“Why?” The weird dwarf said eagerly, hand falling to the warg's side. “What have they been saying?”

“That the Orcs are on the march again.” Da' winced when the strange dwarf paled suddenly, stepping down so he could be level with is audience. “And that the Warg Queen amasses an army in the ruins of Framsburg.”

“An army?” the warg choked, the lynx slinking over to stand at her tense shoulder.

“They claim to serve the Lonely Mountain and all who are enemies of Gundabad.”

“Mama.” The injured dwarf said, dark skin grey-tinged from blood loss. “It's Ma', she's working with that warg.”

Tilda stared as the leader dwarf went a little bit too still, his hands clenching into fists at his sides and his eyes flickering shut.

“Why would she do that?” The lynx said, her voice rasping and low, attention fixed on Tilda's Da'.

“Dís always had a knack for knowing what we didn't.” The tattoo'd dwarf muttered, eyes distant and a tendon fluttering in his tensed jaw. None of them looked very scary any more, not with the shock on their faces and her Da' standing over them, his bow in hand.

“It's 'cause the wargs are asking for help.” Tilda said loudly, her mistle thrush daemon coming to settle on her shoulder, needle-thin talons catching on her dress. “That's what they're doing in all those places. At least that's what Floki said.”

“And Mama has answered their call.” The blond dwarf said, mouth hitching up into a half-hearted smile, nudging his brother affectionately. “To come help us.”

With know idea who this Dís was, it was hard to tell why these dwarrows seemed so pleased by the news, something shifting in their demeanour as they began to process the words. Only the lead dwarf's face remained mostly unchanged, scepticism creeping into his voice as he spoke again above the growing chatter.

“Why build an army?” Why now?” he said, shifting uneasily when Bard, instead of speaking for himself, nodded for Tilda to continue.

“There is a-” she paused, thinking of how Sigrid and Floki had described it, with their wide, frightened eyes and shivers. She tugged anxiously at her braid for a moment, looking to Floki as he pressed the correct names and places into her mind “A shadow. In Dol Goldor, it summons the orcs to it, they're getting ready to fight.”

Tilda watched the weird dwarf grab reflexively at the leader's shirtsleeve, his other hand going to one of the pockets of his tattered waistcoat. He looked just about ready to be sick.

“If you are one of the wargs aligned with the one nearing Framsburg, I would appreciate it if you came with us.” Tilda's Da' said solemnly, Ivo slipping carefully through the crowd to stand next to Tilda. “The people of Lake-Town have much to discuss with you.”

“And my dwarrows?” the warg said, an edge to her voice. Tilda's Da' paused a moment, eyes drifting once more to the lead dwarf, his face wary and confused.

“They are welcome too.” he said stiffly, Tilda scowling across at him for being rude. “Though we will have to be careful, and you must promise to hear us out.”

Tilda wondered how long her Da' had been planning this, planning for wargs and diplomacy with the few scraps of information he'd been given. There was only so much Floki could tell them about the world beyond Mirkwood, and Sigrid only shared the parts of her nightmares that she could bare to tell, but he knew more than the rest of them.

Her Da' was a leader whether he liked it or not, and Tilda knew deep in her bones that these travellers were a culmination of all the half-formed rumours of the last year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me if something/nothing makes sense in this chapter, I have a habit of convincing myself that everyone knows what's going on in my head :)
> 
> Next two or so chapters should be like 80% Bagginshield fluff I promise. 
> 
> You're all lovely and very, very kind, as always, thank you for reading. Come talk to me on [tumblr](http://sansa-starc.tumblr.com/) xx


	24. XXI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Company arrive in Laketown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recap because I'm rubbish at updating: Bard has found the dwarrows and is taking them for talks with the other inhabitants of Laketown, knowing that Dís and the wargs are heading for Erebor. Bilbo has made a deal with Legolas. Thorin continues to pine.

Bilbo had slept through the journey into Laketown, propped up next to Kíli in one corner of the deck, piled under any spare blankets they could find. He'd looked blearily out across the half-drowned ruins and dozed off, curled around Damia with Kíli's head resting on his shoulder. The journey was longer than it would have been, Bard skirting around the town to find an entrance guarded by those who wanted the dwarrows inside. That fact alone, if Bilbo wasn't so tired, would have made him worry, nervous of the fact that they'd had to sneak out of one hostile area and then straight into another.

He woke to a touch on his shoulder and the sight of buildings leaning in over him, crowded and laced in ice.

“Wake up Bilbo,” the familiar silhouette of Bofur's hat loomed above him, a rather half-hearted smile stretching the dwarf's bluish lips, “we've been promised a fire inside.”

That made getting up a little easier, Bofur pulling him to his feet, the world spinning slightly as he gazed around. Laketown looked grim, rotting wood stained black by the melting snow and water grey and eerily still, but the people were anything but. They were wary in a way that Bilbo had come to expect, but there was the same excitement in their murmured conversations as he'd seen in Bard when he'd first set eyes on Damia. They'd docked outside an inn, and Bilbo looked up at the top windows to see pale faces peering out, worn but fascinated, and not as fearful as people usually were. Bard was talking hurriedly to what could only be the owner of the building, his daughter keeping close to his leg even as her daemon fluttered off over the cramped rooftops.

“-you're going to have to tell us sometime.” Bilbo jumped, shaken from his thoughts by Bofur's loud words. “How did you do it?”

“What?” Bilbo said, realising that all attention had fallen on him, even Bard pausing to listen.

“How'd you get us out of Mirkwood?”

Bilbo's heart stuttered in his chest, thinking of those frantic minutes spent searching the tunnels, chest aching from leaving Damia alone in the cell. He looked for the first time at where Thorin sat, sharing a crate with a suspicious looking Dwalin, and thought back to how proud the dwarf had been when Bilbo had found him. He'd looked so happy, face half shadowed, but his hands reaching through the bars to clasp at Bilbo's for a single, brief moment.

“Guards.” he said, hoping the catch in his voice was dismissed as simply a shiver. “They didn't seem to like Thranduil's orders much, enough to give me the key.” Bilbo winced, looking at the rather incredulous looks on his friends faces, trying not to feel too guilty. “I suppose they didn't think I'd free you as well.”

That seemed to placate all but Dwalin and, surprisingly, Kíli, who struggled to push away from where his brother held him upright.

“The guard,” he said, eyes wide and slightly glazed from fever, “did she have red hair?”

Bilbo blinked, surprised, nodding as he thought back to the elf who'd kept oddly silent, her hair bright in the torchlight.

“I knew it.” Kíli said, suddenly not looking so old, reminding Bilbo of the child who'd tripped into Bag End all that time ago. “I _knew_ she liked me.”

The smug grin was wiped of his face as he stumbled forward, caught at the last moment by his Uncle's strong arm. He was quiet then, face crumpled in pain and the arch of his back rising and falling with laboured breaths.

“Get him inside.” Bard said quietly after a moment, gentle as he stepped aside to let the dwarrows pass. “You have time to rest before the council get here.”

The inn was empty for the most part, the tables cleared to two opposing sides of the room, chairs stacked up in the corner. The owner led them further inside, disappearing into a side room to gather a mountain of blankets, tongue clicking as the dwarrows dripped cold water across his floors.

“There's rooms upstairs, all made up.” he said, moving to the window, looking worriedly through the misted glass as if on lookout. “We'll get you medical supplies if you need them.”

The building was nice, if sparse, and Bilbo soon stopped shivering, following the dwarrows up the narrow staircase. With no belongings to stow away in a room, he sat in the corridor, listening to his friend's muffled voices, slowly growing louder as the dwarrows grew happier. Worry tied his stomach in knots as he waited for the Lakemen to call them down, left to his own thoughts until Thorin appeared, face pale, from Kíli's room.

“Hello.” Bilbo said, raising his eyebrows when Thorin sat down next to him, letting his back slide down the wall. “How is he?”

“I don't know.” Thorin said, lifting his hand from his lap to let Sola rest her head there. “Oín's doing his best.”

“Of course.” Bilbo said, suddenly conscious of how drawn Thorin looked, thin lips a faint blue and dark circles under his eyes. “I'm sure he will be fine, you Durins are too stubborn by half.”

Thorin huffed, mouth twitching into something nearing a smile, carding his nail's through his daemon's damp fur. They were silent for a while, too tired to keep up small talk, and content enough to listen to the faint rattle of rain on the roof.

“I'm sorry.” Thorin said suddenly, Bilbo watching a faint blush crawl up from underneath his collar. “I lost my temper in the throne room.”

“You did.” Bilbo agreed, watching, intrigued, as Thorin struggled for his next words.

“It was wrong of me to try to divert attention from your cause.” he said, and Bilbo itched to take his hand, resting in a fist against the worn floorboards. “I would not have reacted kindly if positions had been reversed.”

“We understand.” Bilbo said, not forgiving, but not feeling too bitter either. “You had good reason.”

“Thank you.” he said, relaxing suddenly. He nodded absently to himself, lost in thought . “You've done a lot for the Durins, stubborn or not.”

Bilbo felt his face heat, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling.

“I wouldn't go making grand speeches just yet,” Bilbo said, nudging Thorin's shoulder gently with his own, “another Durin turning up might be the last straw for me, I might flee in the night if your sister is anything like her sons.”

“I hope not.” Thorin says, with a startling amount of sincerity, hands twisted together in his lap as he glanced across at Bilbo, eyes meeting for the first time. “And I think you'll like Dís.”

“What's she like?”

“Clever, like you.” he says without a pause, a fondness in his expression that makes an old, buried part of Bilbo pine for siblings again. “Her bartering skills were what kept us alive the first winters in the Blue Mountains. No wonder she comes charging in now, she'll thrive on the politics.”

“She's a diplomat then?” Bilbo said dubiously, trying to match up this faceless woman with her infamous family name. The question startled a laugh from Sola, Thorin tugging disapprovingly at her ear, but smirking regardless.

“She is a warrior, she does not look for peace if it does not work in her favour. I always thought she should have been the first born because of it.” he said without jealousy, looking softer with every word he spoke. “The bargemen says the common people of Laketown already sing songs in her honour. Call her the Lady of silver fountains, the Queen of carven stone.”

“She sounds terrifying.” Bilbo said promptly, freezing the moment he realised the words were out of his mouth.

“You didn't have to grow up with her.” Thorin said, leaning in close, conspiratorial. “She used to terrorise Dwalin,” he paused, head tilting, “still does, actually.”

Bilbo could feel Thorin's breath on his neck as he mock-whispered, letting himself grin, incredulous, as he turned to face the dwarf. Bitterly cold and tired, Thorin Oakenshield was gossiping. _Making jokes._

“That is without doubt the best news I've heard all day.” Bilbo said, unconsciously lowering his voice and feeling like a faunt again, a smile splitting his face. “I think you might be right, I think your sister and I will get along splendidly.”

Thorin laughed, quiet but _fond,_ tucking a strand of hair behind his ear and relaxing back against the wall.

“Mahal forbid a time when the two of you meet, I don't think I'd survive it.” His expression faltered suddenly into something sadder, and Bilbo hated how natural it looked. “Especially for what I've let happen to her sons.”

Bilbo couldn't help but let his own hand drift down to Thorin's, letting his palm rest on the dwarf's cold skin for a brief moment.

“I told you, he'll be alright.” Bilbo said, more fierce than he'd intended. “And she'll forgive you.”

“She didn't even want us to go.”

“What?”

“After the dwarf Lords rejected our proposal, she told me not to go through with it,” Thorin winced, staring fixedly at the wall opposite, “she told me we should focus on making our lives better in the west, with no more lives lost to orc blades and-”

“Don't you dare.” Curling his fingers around Thorin's, suddenly desperate to comfort the dwarf. “You can't drag me across Middle Earth only to give up hope.” He paused, watching Thorin's profile carefully, unconsciously running his thumb across his knuckles. “We- _I_ trust you Thorin, I trust that this is the best thing for your people.”

“Even Isan, Dís' daemon, she loves to fight, will argue with anyone and everyone, even she said that this was a bad idea.”

“You're helping people Thorin, and not just dwarrows.” Bilbo said, louder than intended. He bit his lip, taking a breath before continuing. “And maybe she's changed her mind, she wouldn't be marching toward us is he hadn't, right?”

“I'm not so sure anymore.” he said, bringing his free hand to rub at his tired eyes, relaxing against Bilbo's side. “This is no longer just about Smaug, or even about Erebor, this is so much bigger than I ever could have imagined.”

Before he could quite process what he was doing, Bilbo was reaching up brush Thorin's hair away from his face, fingertips brushing warm skin, dark eyes flick up to meet his own and-

“Excuse me?” Bilbo bit back a curse, snatching his back and head twisting round, finding the person who had spoken staring down the corridor. She was unmistakeably one of Bard's children, a tiny mouse hiding behind a plait of dark hair in the crook of her neck. “You're wanted downstairs.”

Looking distinctly unimpressed when Damia snapped her teeth, the girl disappeared down the stairs once more, leaving Bilbo to scramble to his feet, taking a jarring step forward when Thorin said his name softly.

“We better not keep them waiting.” Bilbo said, stubbornly refusing to turn back to Thorin, even as the others started sticking their heads out of their rooms, talking among themselves.

Bilbo was soon wept up in the crush of dwarrows and daemons, shepherded down toward the main room by a Bifur who fussed over his still damp clothes. The sight that greeted them when they arrived at the bottom was surprising, a group of twenty or so clustered around a table on the far side of the table. All chatter stopped abruptly as they made themselves known, and as the Lakemen turned Bilbo recognised that these were no high-ranking officials, with plain clothes and hollow cheeks.

“Welcome.” Bard said when he could be heard, sat near the centre with his daemon pacing anxiously at his feet. “I hope you are feeling slightly better.”

“We are.” Thorin said, hand going to settle on a sword hilt that was no longer there. “Now speak bargeman, why were you so eager to help us?”

Bard was quiet for a moment, fiddling idly with the flagon set in front of him.

“We need allies,” he said, something dark and angry passing across his face, “we need to make treaties and friendships outside the influence of The Master and his pet nobles.”

“Why?” Thorin demanded, and Bilbo could tell that he was intrigued, at least for now.

“We do not want this to be decided to by the rich, because the rich already have what we seek and refuse to share.” Bard sat as the others nodded, serious but sincere. “We want money and security- the knowledge that our children and our elderly will at least have a chance of seeing Spring.”

“We are poor, Master Dwarf,” a woman said, worn hands folded neatly on the table in front of her, “and we would not involve ourselves in this conflict if given the choice.”

“Get to the point.” Thorin said, all forced civility and barely-veiled suspicion.

“We will fight for your Queen and the wargs,” Bard said, bowing his head to Damia, “but we want to be paid.”

The dwarrows went tense in their seats, and Bilbo could only imagine what they all looked like, bedraggled and aggressive. He understood the sudden anger though, because he knew the exiled people of Erebor didn't have money to spare. Thorin let the silence that followed linger, Sola's growl making many of the humans flinch back in their seats.

“We have enough soldiers, we cannot afford to pay for any more.” he said slowly, wary as Bard suddenly smiled, close-lipped and strained.

“You'll need more to take the mountain, then money will not be an issue.” Bard raised an eyebrow at the suddenly wary dwarrows. “We are not fools, your army will have to winter somewhere, and no Durin would miss the opportunity of being so close with an army at their back.”

Thorin's face went _cold_ then, a muscle flickering in his jaw, and Bilbo knew that Bard had hit a nerve.

“We are in no position to speak for the Queen.”

“That's a lie.” All attention went suddenly to Bard's daughter, daemon perched on her shoulder, eyes shrewd and unnerving. “The injured Prince called him Uncle, Floki heard.”

“Thorin Durin.” An older man said after a moment of quiet, eyebrows raising to his hairline. “The heir to Erebor lives.”

Bard's expression changed easily from shock to satisfaction, his tired eyes lighting up with excitement.

“So you can do business with us.” Thorin was the one to growl this time, Sola dangerously quiet as she got to her feet, ears folded back.

“I am not in the habit of buying my allies, boat man.” he said finally, lipped curled in the picture of aristocratic disdain. “No dwarf would waste coin on a group of fishermen playing at being mercenaries.

Bilbo winced, Balin muttering something long-suffering and decidedly ruse under his breath, the Lakemen sent into uproar. Only Bard remained focused, suddenly as uncannily impassive as his daughter, seeming to lose interest in Thorin.

“And you?” Bilbo's breath caught as he was addressed, shooting a panicked glance at Damia. “Do hobbits commonly buy their friends?”

Bilbo sighed, conscious of Damia's warning glare, because he'd be lying if he'd denied it. And they still had a little left to bargain with.

“We have claim to one fourteenth of the treasure in that blasted mountain.” Damia said for him, conscious that she was offering the last of what they had. “You help us get it, and keep it from orcs, then you can have it.”

“With conditions.” Bilbo said quickly, while the dwarrows were still shocked into silence. “I would like to include a small portion of it in my will. Which will be burnt if I survive to see Erebor and the wargs safe.”

It was difficult to judge who was more surprised.

“You own a _fourteenth_ of the wealth of Erebor?” Bard said, breaking the silence, incredulous to the point of being a little insulting.

“You're writing a will?” Thorin said, ignoring Bard, his mask of contempt slipping.

“We've made enemies lately, powerful ones.” Damia said, with an approximation of a shrug, and Bilbo couldn't help but fidget under the scrutiny. “And that's excluding the dragon.”

“But otherwise the money will be ours, or left to the people of Laketown in the event of my death.” Bilbo said, eager to keep the conversation on track, if only to finish it sooner.

“I don't trust him.” Bilbo couldn't tell who spoke, but he saw half of the group nod, wary in a way that Bilbo could sympathise with.

“I have all he says in writing.” Balin said, pointedly ignoring the betrayed noises fro some of the other dwarrows. “If you fight with us there is nothing stopping you claiming it if Master Baggins agrees.”

There was a long moment where the makeshift council looked between each other, attention finally settling on the woman who'd spoken before. She glared down the long table at Bard, who hands shook imperceptibly, her voice quiet and cold.

“We've traded with dwarrows since Men first settled in these parts.” she said, her scruffy hare daemon twitching, uneasy. “But we've never dealt with halflings before, have hardly even heard of them.”

“He's not so different.” Bard said carefully, and Bilbo could see a power struggle that he could barely understand, yet recognised the politics of a small town with a grim sort of nostalgia.

“Of course.” the woman sneered, lip curling. “Just look at him. He's got the height of a dwarf- even the ears of an elf. But he's got the daemon of an orc.”

At this point Bilbo was rather certain that Balin was the only thing keeping most of the dwarrows from vaulting over the table, but any furious khudzul was quickly cut short by Bard. He looked less nervous as he spoke again, his eyes flicking to where his daughter still sat in the shadows.

“This isn't about daemons.” he said, turning to address the room at large. “This is about relying on the Master, who is definitely not as willing to offer us money than this hobbit, no matter what we do.”

The woman fell quiet, eyes quick and calculating as her gaze settled on Bilbo, conceding the point with a small nod of her head. The humans began muttering among themselves, locked in discussion and leaving the dwarrows to wait, suddenly feeling very out of place.

“Hobbit.” Bilbo was too wrapped up in the tension that he didn't notice Thorin's hand until it was on his shoulder, spinning round to face the dwarf. “I did not agree to hiring them.”

“Good thing you didn't have to.” Bilbo replied, mirroring Thorin's biting tone and scowl. “It's my money, and my duty to do whatever it takes to ensure the warg pup's safety.”

For a moment Bilbo thought Thorin was going to snarl, fall back into the easy pattern of aggression and reaction, his face going dark and brooding. The expression passed as quickly as it had come however, his hand faltering, looking more stressed than angry as the room quietened.

“A vote.” A man sat at the far side of the table declared before Bilbo could even open his mouth to speak, the majority of the Lakemen quieting in agreement.

“All in favour of agreeing to the hobbit's terms?” Bard said before another could speak, raising his own hand. There was a second of complete stillness, long enough for Bilbo to feel his heart in his throat, before the woman with the hare daemon raised her own, others following.

“The vote has to be unanimous.” she said, jaw set, the reminder sounding more like threat as she scanned the room. With that, any folded arms were raised, Bard's smile growing wider with every passing moment.

“Well, Master Hobbit,” he said, bowing his head, “the fighters of Laketown are in your service.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This must be getting old, but I'm genuinely sorry for the late update, my life has consisted of writers block and exams for the last couple of months.
> 
> You're are all very very lovely for baring with me and leaving such kind and helpful feedback, as always, please point out mistakes or things that don't make sense, it helps a lot :) xx


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